


A Light in the Darkness

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drama, Multi-Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2006-10-01
Packaged: 2018-03-22 22:18:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3745406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haldir wakes after Helm's Deep suffering terrible injuries. As he slowly recovers, he recalls years before and the adventures (and misadventures) of his younger days.<br/><br/>Definitely NC-17 for M/M Slash and sexual situations.<br/><br/>Definitely AU, non-canon, angst</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

After the shocking pain came the boneless fall. His face struck the rough stones with jarring force, then his body, limp as a doll. He had thought death would be swift - one moment occupied in whatever activity sent him over, the next walking Mandos' halls to his assigned place. He would see loved ones and friends - and enemies - who had crossed before him. Instead, the rain continued to pour down on him, so much rain he was temporarily blinded as he managed somehow to turn onto his back, forced to blink away the rain to stare upwards as the flaring light of many torches faded to burning pinpricks in the midnight skies. And the pain - that didn't lessen as he had thought it would. No, it grew deeper, every cut and scrape, every bruise and fracture, every gash and gaping wound singing its own song, adding to his need to scream in agony. A hoarse, rusty sound was all he could produce from lungs gone shockingly weak, and even that brought blood bubbling from between his lips in a coughing sound that was so small and pitiful he doubted anyone could hear him. He would have laughed at his predicament if he hadn't been in such pain. As it was, he felt like a mortally wounded animal spitted over someone's cookfire. The need to scream rose again, and he produced more volume this time - a kind of choking sob that finally, miraculously, brought someone to his side.  
  
Concerned blue eyes in a pale, smudged face, shock in every line of the fine-boned features - he should know this elf, but he could not put name and face together. Then slim, long-fingered hands touched his brow, cheek and shoulder. And at that, Haldir, Guardian of Lorien, confidante of the Lady and Lord of Lorien, at last found the strength to scream. The shriek came up from the soles of his feet, ripping out of his bloody mouth so unexpectedly that the elf supporting him across his lap jumped in surprise, adding to Haldir's pain even though the slim, elegant hands increased their soothing touches on his twitching skin. "Help me," he managed, fisting his right hand in the other elf's tunic.  
  
"Elbereth - he's badly hurt - Healers! I need healers here now - the Guardian is down!"  
  
Whether they reached him or not, Haldir couldn't have told. By the time the other elf - Legolas, he had finally recalled just before he passed out - bent over him again, he was mercifully unconscious and unaware. When the team of healers, helped by the Prince of Mirkwood and even Aragorn himself, lifted Haldir onto the bloody stretcher, he lay silent and unresponsive until someone thought to put his hands across his middle and secure them by means of tucking them inside the bloody remnants of his cloak and tunic - that brought him screaming awake as the shattered bones in his arm grated against one another. Legolas had ripped away the smashed and dented armor by then, sending it flying to land with a broken clashing sound onto the stone pavers. As the team of healers sped off at a swift pace, Legolas found Haldir's broken bow and shattered sword lying beneath where he'd fallen. He retrieved them and ran, following the white tunics of the healers that shone like a beacon in the confusing darkness that had fallen over Helm's Deep.  
  
Aragorn returned to his soldiers, and when Haldir's brother Rúmil came limping up to him, begging to know if he had seen him, Aragorn sent him off toward the main tent where the healers worked - where the worst wounded were being aided - and told Rumil kindly that Haldir was alive the last he'd seen. He didn't add that he thought he would not be by the time dawn broke over the site of their victory, however. Best let that news come from the healers, he thought. He blew out a breath of deep regret and frustration, then returned to his duties rallying his troops.

Rúmil, wounded in the right thigh, although not badly, limped as quickly as he could in the direction of the healers' tents. Halfway to his objective, he was relieved to be joined by his brother, Orophin, also in the midst of a frantic search for their sibling, Haldir. "He's in the healers' tent," Rúmil managed, panting. He stood, legs braced apart, panting, leaning with his hands on his thighs until he got some breath back. "Aragorn said Legolas found him - he's badly hurt but he was alive enough to yell his lungs out when they put him on the stretcher."  
  
Orophin's mouth quirked into a shaky fragment of a grin, "Trust him to have something to say about that," he couldn't help remarking. The brothers exchanged wry grins over the foibles of their elder sibling, then Orophin took Rúmil's left arm across his shoulders, bracing him up, and they set off together to find the Guardian.  
  
Legolas stood over Haldir's cot in the healers' tent. He'd been seen to - at least had a preliminary examination and had a pressure bandage applied to his left upper arm above a ghastly open fracture - and they'd taken a close look at the wound in his back - open fracture of the shoulder blade, they'd told Legolas. The entire right side of his face from jaw to eye was bruised and swollen from when he'd fallen onto the rocks after the Uruk-Hai wounded him - the chief among the healers had remarked that his cheekbone and possibly the socket supporting his eye were broken, a possibility that had Legolas wincing in sympathy.   
  
Haldir would be seen to by the Lady's own healer - they were now simply waiting for a place to be cleared for him and proper medicaments, bandaging and the like to be made ready. He'd been given a drink of strong, herbal tea when he'd begged for water - Legolas had held the cup to Haldir's trembling lips himself, wanting to wrap him up in warm blankets and take him somewhere safe rather than stay here with him - bleeding, his body torn and broken, nude under a bloodied sheet after the assistants had dispassionately stripped him of the remnants of his fine red cloak, his velvet surcote, heavy silk shirt and soft suede leggings. Everything had been ruined - ripped, cut, torn and soaked in blood or other fluids Legolas didn't even want to think about. He sighed now, hearing familiar voices approaching. Glancing up from wiping sweat off Haldir's parchment-pale face, he met Rúmil's and Orophin's blue eyes across the tent. "Thank the Valar," he breathed. Reinforcements had arrived.  
  
Haldir's two siblings came into the overheated, overcrowded tent like a strong wind, sweeping everything before them so that anyone who didn't need to be between them and their brother was virtually blown out of the way, sent scurrying elsewhere so the healers could work and the tent was less like a charnel house. Legolas admired them, for once glad of their extroverted personalities and air that only the best was their due. After all, they were Galadhrim from Lorien, and their brother was Guardian of Lorien. They had the ear of not only Lord Celeborn, but also the Lady Galadriel herself. They hunted with Lord Elrond of Rivendell and his sons, the Peredhil, Elrohir and Elladan. They drank and feasted with Aragorn, son of Arathorn, who would one day be King Elessar. Even Thranduil of Mirkwood knew and respected them, although perhaps not as much as he respected their elder brother who held the heart of Thranduil's son in the palm of his hand. And Haldir had earned that respect by dint of hard labor and care for the beautiful Legolas Thranduilion - Prince Greenleaf of Mirkwood. It had taken him years to earn it, and they were going to see that he kept it by virtue of not dying despite his grievous wounds.  
  
Orophin literally picked Legolas up from the stool he was slumped on and took his place on it, with Legolas on his lap as if he were still a mere elfling and not an adult. "How goes it with you, Legolas?" he wanted to know, seeing that Legolas appeared exhausted, was hurt himself although already sporting a bandage or two, and that he so obviously needed comforting. Before Legolas could respond, however, Orophin leaned forward to touch his older brother. "Haldir, never worry - we'll take good care of Legolas for you - you just do what the healers tell you and get well."  
  
Rúmil snorted. "And we all know how cooperative Haldir can be with anything or anyone who seeks to restrict him." The three elves exchanged rueful looks as they recalled past episodes when they'd practically had to chain Haldir to his bed in order to keep him in it long enough to recover fully from some injury or other and not go gallumphing off early because he was determined to get back to his duties. "We must work together on this," Rúmil said in a low voice.  
  
"Agreed, and now here comes the stretcher to take him to the surgeons," Legolas added. He got down from Orophin's lap before the medics saw him. He did not want to appear like an elfling in front of them; he didn't know them, they didn't know him, but dignity, after all, must be maintained. At least partially. The medics quickly and efficiently put the still unconscious Haldir onto their stretcher and carried him off to the other side of the tent, leaving the two golden-haired brothers and the prince, who even filthy and blood stained managed to be utterly beautiful and eye-catching, standing with nothing to do.  
  
"It's liable to be hours," Orophin commented when they'd all stood gazing around, at a loss for a few minutes.   
  
"I'm going to see if there's anything I can do," Rúmil announced, and set off to find one of the Lorien healers that he knew to offer his services. He could, after all, clean and bandage wounds since he was the one in his unit who served as a field medic, and he could mop blood or fetch supplies if that was what was needed. Anything but just standing around waiting to hear, he simply could not sit still that long. Better to be busy.  
  
Haldir, deep in a healing sleep after the healers finished setting his fractured arm and doing the best they could with his shattered scapula, likewise his terribly swollen face, dreamed in disjointed snatches. First he dreamt of the time when he was just past his majority and overcome with hero worship for a much older, much sought-after warrior. His brothers teased him unmercifully about it, poking fun at him whenever they got a chance, which - thankfully - wasn't very often because Haldir was by then the youngest member of one of the patrols which guarded Lorien's borders against intrusion.  
  
Still, whenever his patrol came in from the perimeter to renew their supplies, enjoy a few days of leave and generally relax a bit, Rúmil and Orophin would seize any opportunity to harrass him about his "dream lover", as Rúmil archly put it. "Oh, Haldir is in lo-o-o-o-ve," he would croon in a silly, high-pitched voice.  
  
"In lo-o-o-o-ove?" Orophin would answer, "Are you sure it's not in lu-u-u-u-ust, brother?"  
  
Rúmil would chuckle knowingly and nod, "You could be right - look, he can barely walk, his cock is so stiff just thinking about the fair Balrog Slayer!"  
  
Haldir would groan, looking about to be sure nobody was near or had overheard the two of them, then he would get even in some way or other, often when they least expected it. That time it was toads in their beds that provoked screeches of surprised disgust when one or the other of them climbed in between their clean sheets thinking to pass a night in the comfort of a real bed for a change, only to end up chasing down the slimy creatures as they hopped and jumped about inside their talan, then having to dump them someplace outside without hurting them because both of them were too tender-hearted to just drop them over the edge of the platform onto the ground far below. After that, they had to change their soiled bed linen because toad slime, mud and pebbles did not make for a comfortable night. Haldir, meanwhile, in his larger talan, somewhat higher up and in an even higher mallorn than that of his two siblings, chuckled to himself and enjoyed his revenge until the next time they teased him.  
  
The very worst occasion started when Haldir was standing ceremonial guard over Lady Galadriel as she welcomed a delegation from Mirkwood that had come to Lorien to discuss their mutual problem with orc incursions along the borders that edged Dol-Guldur. Haldir, in a rich cloak of pale gray with silver threads in the weft, an ornate silver-inlaid bow across his shoulders, large, curving sword in his hands, point down in the earth as he stood at Galadriel's right side, had stood at proud attention, shoulders back, legs slightly apart, gloved hands steady on the hilt of his sword. He felt, for a change, like a full adult elf and that he had left his childhood far behind. Then, as the Mirkwood party's horses approached, he caught sight of the glorious, long, golden hair of the rider beside King Thranduil and he groaned inwardly.  
  
Of course, he should have realized - the Balrog Slayer, Lord Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower, reborn to even greater beauty by the gift of the Valar - would be with the king. Haldir's midnight blue eyes slid to one side and he caught the stifled merriment in Orophin's gaze even from fifty feet away where his two brothers stood lined up with the members of their own patrol. Elbereth, Haldir prayed, do not let either of these two elflings that masquerade as my adult brothers open their mouths in the hearing of any of the visitors - most especially Glorfindel himself.  
  
And they didn't - exactly. What happened was actually more embarrassing. A week into the visit of the Mirkwood party, Haldir was once again garbed in his finest uniform, fully armed, standing just outside a large, private garden often used by Celeborn and Galadriel when they entertained important visitors. This time, they were using it for an outdoor meeting, everyone seated casually, dressed in more humble clothing than the formal garments worn for a more staid occasion such as a formal state function. Everyone, that is, but the Lorien elves standing guard here and there around the perimeter of the garden. For some reason, they were the only ones fully and almost stiflingly dressed in full regalia of suede leggings, boots to the thigh, heavy silk shirts under quilted, padded tunics and over all of that, their best cloaks. Even their hands were covered - Haldir's in thickly padded grey leather gauntlets embroidered with gold and mithril threads. All they were missing, he thought, trying not to sweat, was their heavy helmets and breastplates.   


He sighed, feeling drops of sweat roll down the small of his back, wishing for the meeting to be over and the guards dismissed. The first thing he would do, he told himself, was cast off the stifling cloak, the heavy tunic and shirt, and then the damned boots that seemed to be choking the life out of him that day for some reason. Oh, and the leather leggings as well - he would stand stark naked on the platform of his talan and let the wind cool the sweat on his body. And he didn't give a damn who saw him, either - he was so hot that - Valar! Was Glorfindel looking in his direction?

Haldir angled his eyes in that direction. Yes, he was positive - the beautiful elf, his hero, the Balrog Slayer himself, was watching him. And - by the gods - he was smiling at him! As Haldir contemplated that, Glorfindel must have realized the object of his lustful glance was aware of it because he winked. Elbereth! He winked at me, Haldir realized. He had to concentrate extremely hard not to gape at the golden-haired beauty who lounged casually, a jeweled wine cup in one hand, the other draped over the back of the cushioned chair.  
  
Resolutely, Haldir forced himself to look away and keep his posture correctly upright and military. It would not do for him to even look in Glorfindel's direction much less be caught gaping open-mouthed at him like an elfling. Would this meeting never end?!?! More sweat rolled down his back as Haldir fought to keep his composure and not even allow himself another peek to see if his hero was still looking at him.  
  
Then, to his shocked surprise, the Lady's voice sounded in his head, "Haldir, he finds you beautiful, my dear - but be strong, and do not easily give in to his importuning you." Haldir's eyes went to where the Lady relaxed against the white silk pillows of a chaise whose frame was carved with the shapes of leaves and flowers. She was smiling at him, holding the bud of a white rose in her elegant hands, twirling it and occasionally breathing in its sweet scent. He allowed himself the briefest look, then forced his eyes frontwards again, determined to carry out this duty well. He heard the tinkle of her laughter in his head and ground his teeth in frustration.  
  
Galadriel had taken a liking to him and was closely following his career with the guardian patrol. When he had finally screwed up the nerve to ask her why, she had smiled warmly at him, briefly touched the warrior's braid at the side of his head and remarked that she had known and respected his late father, had loved his late mother as a close friend, and had dandled a newborn Haldir on her lap many a time, long ago. "In other words, my dear," she had answered him, smiling gently at him with her sparkling blue eyes twinkling, "I am merely looking out for you as I promised your adar and naneth many centuries ago."  
  
"Oh," he had answered, somewhat lamely, then, "I thank you, my Lady, I, er, it is most unexpected - a great honor - I appreciate it more than I can say." Valar, had she even changed his nappy? he wondered, aghast at that possibility. It was certainly a thought to humble any grand notions about himself.  
  
She had patted his arm and smiled again, remembering his father, whom Haldir was so like, and sighing over blood long ago spilt in service of Lothlorien. "I miss both your parents, dear Haldir, and I'm sure you and your brothers do also, although Rúmil was barely out of infancy when your naneth chose to follow your late father to Valinor."  
  
"Yes, my Lady," Haldir had murmured, saddened for a moment that his parents had not been there to see all of them fully grown and in honorable service to their country. Galadriel had patted him once again and told him not to be sorrowful, but to remember the happiness and love of his family before the sad times, and how proud both of them would be now if they saw how he had turned out.  
  
So, occasionally, the Lady far-spoke him, and he at least was enough used to it now that he no longer jumped in surprise when her voice popped into his head without her lips actually speaking the words directly. Regarding Glorfindel, she only added that yes, he was fair indeed, and would make a magnificent lover, she was sure, to be Haldir's first adult partner. But she again added a warning that Glorfindel was not one to keep to only one partner, and he never, ever showed any signs of settling permanently with any of the long parade of lovers he had had over the centuries. "Do not put your heart into his hands," she warned him, "for he will break it as sure as the sun rises in the morning."  


Thus forewarned, Haldir had resisted the pull of that cerulean blue gaze, and when the outdoor meeting at last - at last!! - came to a conclusion and the guards were dismissed, he had practically bolted from the garden back to his talan. Once safely there, he had cast off the overly warm clothing just as he had promised himself he would, only he didn't do the standing naked part - at least not on the platform of the talan. Instead, he gathered towels, fresh clothing and bathing supplies, and headed off through the woods to a small pool he knew of in a secluded grove where he planned to sink into the waters and cool himself off with a leisurely swim and bath.  
  
He had been so intent on that pleasure, he failed to notice the tall, golden-haired elf who followed him on silent feet, staying just out of the range of his peripheral vision. When Haldir reached the pool - glad to find it deserted - he had dropped towels, clothes and sundry other items onto a carved stone bench on the bank, then proceeded to strip off his loose linen shirt and leggings. Kicking off the light shoes he wore, he stretched his arms skyward, bending and flexing muscles cramped from standing still so long at guard. Then finally he waded into the pool and sank down onto one of the large, smooth rocks that were set just under the surface all around the perimeter to serve as seats and even watery beds for those who used the pool.  
  
The water was cool, although not overly so as the spring that fed it was warmed by a distant hot spring that was tempered by another, colder water source that joined it to form the beautiful blue bowl of quiet water. It was Haldir's favorite place to bathe, relax in and near the water and contemplate - well, everything. He lay back on the rock and let the rivulets his movements caused tickle his bare skin. His peaceful time was short-lived, however, as his two brothers, with their seeming ability to read his mind, came capering and laughing their way to the pond, their laughter and teasing shouts wrecking his plans for a quiet hour or so. He groaned inwardly, but soon relented and was laughing with them about his having to stand ceremonial duty again that day and swelter in full uniform while everyone he was guarding was cool and comfortable in casual clothes.  
  
"So, how did he look?" Rúmil asked, waggling his dark blond eyebrows suggestively. "Bee-yoo-tee-fullllll?" He stopped at the top of the embankment beside the pool and then, to Haldir's chagrin, began moving with exagerrated hip swings and mincing steps down to the water's edge, singing, "I am so love-leeeeeeeeeee!" and other nonsense at the top of his lungs. And Rúmil had formidable lungs, indeed he was an accomplished singer when he wasn't tormenting his brother over his hero worship. He pranced back and forth alongside the water, swinging his hips, flipping his long, golden hair. Then, as if Haldir had wished for the worst possible thing that could happen, Glorfindel himself had stepped out of the shadows of the trees right in Rúmil's path.  
  
Rúmil, not seeing Glorfindel because he was too busy showing off, crashed right into the Balrog Slayer and flopped on the ground on his backside. Looking up from tumbled golden locks which he got out of his line of sight by the simple expedient of puffing a large breath at them, Rúmil took in the gloriously handsome, golden-haired elf standing over of him. "Oops," he said, then giggled as if what he had done was the funniest thing in the world.  
  
Haldir groaned and sank beneath the surface of the water, inadvertantly swallowing half the pond. He emerged coughing and choking, unable to clear his lungs so that when he climbed off the rock to get to his feet, instead he rolled right into the pond and sank like the very stone he'd been lying on. Arms flailing, he emerged an instant later still hacking up water, trying to get a breath of air, only to go under again as he stepped into a deep hole that he'd forgotten was there. His vision went grey around the edges and when he burst out of the water a second time, still flailing, he took another huge breath, got even more water into his lungs and sank again, making a huge splashing wave that rolled up onto the sandy shoreline where Rúmil was still sitting on his butt, staring up at the laughing Glorfindel.  
  
Glorfindel's head swiveled towards the pool, where the elder of the two elflings - for that is what these two must be, he decided, burst from the water a third time, almost blue from lack of oxygen, and this time managed not to sink right back under the surface. This time, he stumbled towards the shore and landed beside his still staring comedian of a brother, splattering all three of them with water and sand. He had a long strand of seaweed draped over his right ear.   
  
Glorfindel admired how the weed mixed in with the elf's long, trailing silver hair as it draped his bare shoulders, and down over his bare torso to end practically hip-long. Bare hip-long. For where the comedian was fully clothed, the lake sprite - for that is what the wet elf resembled - was clothed only in his own fair skin. Glorfindel no longer thought of the wet elf as the beautiful young guard from the welcoming ceremony and the garden meeting. No, now Haldir was, unfortunately, stuck in the Balrog Slayer's memory as the rather fetching, if blue in the face, naked drowned rat. Gasping for air he couldn't seem to take in. Indeed, Glorfindel realized, the elf seemed to be on the verge of something more serious than just coughing up some water - his lips were decidedly blue, as were the tips of his fingers.  
  
"We'd best help him," he said to the still gaping Rúmil, "he can't get his breath." And with that, he knelt, lifted both of Haldir's arms in the air, holding them there by grasping both wrists in one large hand. He then took the flat of his other hand and gave the still strangling beauty a solid blow to the back, dislodging a small, golden fish which flew out, flip-flopped on the bank for a moment or two before it jumped back into the pond. Haldir's lips were a much healthier pink hue, although he refused to look at his rescuer now that he was no longer struggling for air.  
  
Rúmil collapsed in laughter, followed by Glorfindel, who actually fell onto HIS backside right next to Haldir's scrapegrace brother, laughing equally hard. As for Haldir, he took in a bubbling breath, then another, then coughed the rest of the pool up and fell onto his side, moaning, "Just let me die now." This provoked more laughter from Rúmil and Glorfindel, shortly joined by that of Orophin, arriving late to the scene of the crime because he had stayed back when Rúmil began his prancing and cooing, but laughing now because the other two were laughing. And, to his extreme amusement, because his dignified older brother wore strands of seaweed draped over his normally elegant silver blond locks, and because the ever so dignified and elegant Haldir was stark flat-out naked, looking like a drowned warg, lying on the sandy embankment in front of his hero.  
  
While the three - Rúmil, Orophin and Glorfindel - continued their bellows of laughter, Haldir, not one to linger at the scene of a crime, crawled up the bank on his hands and knees, managing to get the seaweed untangled from his hair along the way. Once at the top of the low embankment, he fumbled for his clothes, managing to drag on his shirt first. Then, he drew himself up to his full height, apparently unaware everything below mid-way down his hips was dangling in plain sight, and informed the still laughing trio, "You have no dignity as befits an elf!" Then he turned, treating them to a full view of his muscular backside, and stalked off.  
  
Gusts of laughter followed him. He went only a few paces, belatedly remembering the leggings he clutched in one hand, and stopped to drag them on, not easy because he was still very wet. He hopped from one foot to the other, finally managing to yank the reluctant fabric into place, only to look up, panting from his labors, to find Glorfindel had come up the bank and was standing not three feet away from him, still smiling. Haldir stared. Glorfindel stared - the wet linen shirt and britches hid nothing and the younger elf was beautiful. The moment stretched out as their eyes held and locked. Glorfindel reached towards Haldir with one strong, sunburnt hand and. . .  
  
Rúmil's voice shattered the moment, shrilling, "Oh, Haldirrrrrrrrrrrrrrr, you'd best put your pants on before you go back to the city!"  
  
Haldir looked down at himself, saw that even though he had his pants on by then, he may as well be bare because the wet fabric of his leggings was as sheer as silk. "Oh, by the gods," he whispered, wishing to just sink into the ground. He also wished to throttle both his brothers, and, at that instant, the Balrog Slayer as well. Face flaming, he finally managed to draw his shirt closed, and, holding it so with one hand, he turned on his heel and headed back towards Caras Galadhon with what shreds of dignity he could manage.  
  
Such had been his meeting with his hero.  
  
TBC


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haldir wakes after Helm's Deep suffering terrible injuries. As he slowly recovers, he recalls years before and the adventures (and misadventures) of his younger days.

A/N This chapter contains non-con scenes that are vital to the storyline.  
  
  
The light hurt.   
  
Haldir closed his eyes as quickly as he could, but not before an attempt to fling his arm over his face as a shield brought home the realization that he was not in his normal state of good health. Indeed, the effort of just lifting his arm - attempting to lift it, truthfully - sent such a white hot bolt of pain through his upper body that he couldn't entirely stifle the sound of distress that escaped his lips.   
  
"Haldir? Melethron - try to lie still - you're bandaged and stitched everywhere, dear one, please do not try to move." The voice was familiar. After a moment during which the white heat subsided to a more manageable level, Haldir put a name to the voice.  
  
"L-Legolas?" Even his voice sounded painful - bruised and raw. He realized that the screaming he'd heard in his dreams was probably his own voice making itself heard despite his somnolence. "W-what happened?" He just couldn't put it together - was there an accident? Had he fallen - been trampled by a herd of wargs, perhaps? His body certainly felt like it.  
  
"Yes, my valiant one - please lie still - you've been badly hurt," Slim, cool fingers caressed his face - the left side of it, anyway. Something seemed to be wrong with the right side - it felt huge, swollen and throbbing.   
  
Haldir tried opening his eyes once more, realizing it was only his left eye that functioned. The right eyelid refused to move and felt as swollen as his cheekbone. "My eye," he managed in a questioning tone.  
  
"Your eye is fine, melethron," Legolas reassured him, his cool fingers still stroking Haldir's brow, "You've hurt your cheekbone and your eyelid is very swollen. When the puffiness goes down, you'll be able to open your eye again."  
  
Haldir faintly recalled falling and landing face-first against some stones. With that recollection came the memory of rain falling on his face when he'd turned over. That further reminded him of the intense pain in his back. "The Uruk-Hai axe," he whispered. "I couldn't get out of the way fast enough - my arm - bleeding - Legolas - did I die?" He had thought he was dying, he remembered that, too. But then there were the disjointed flashes of being naked on a stretcher in the healers' tent, and later of the pain of his wounds being treated.   
  
"No," Legolas reassured him, leaning down to kiss where his fingers had been stroking Haldir's forehead soothingly. "No, meldir, you didn't die - and you're not going to, either - you're going to get well and be your old self again." He fervently hoped that was true. He was so tired - having been at Haldir's side for - what now? - almost two days and two nights without much more than a brief catnap when he simply couldn't stay awake any longer. His brain was fuzzy. He imagined, however, that Haldir's was even worse, confused as he was from the blow to his face that had fractured bones and given him a concussion, not to mention the huge blood loss and other broken bones.  
  
"I was screaming," Haldir stated. It wasn't a question, he knew he had been. It was vaguely embarassing, but he'd had no control over it.  
  
Legolas kissed him again, "Yes, meleth, you were - the healers said it was to be expected with your wounds - you've been in a lot of pain, and the blow to your head from your fall didn't help either."  
  
Haldir loved being kissed. He devoutly wished it were under other circumstances, however, because he felt very unwell. He was hot and cold by turns; his body racked with shivers, then sweating so that he wanted to kick off the stifling covers they had over him. And he hurt. He hurt every-damn-where. In fact, the burning, aching, throbbing discomfort was taking him over so that he couldn't force back the tears that spilled over onto his swollen face nor could he stifle a gasp when a slight movement of his left arm brought such agony that his vision narrowed to a tiny point of light.   
  
Haldir desperately wanted to say something to Legolas, but he simply could not get past the pain, nor could he stop himself from weeping with it. He felt Legolas gently wiping away the tears with something soft that was scented with soothing herbs. Someone else had come to sit beside him while Legolas was touching him with the cloth. He felt the rim of a cup held to his lips and he was told he had to drink deeply. It was bitter as gall, and he tried to turn his face away from it, but the person making him drink was stubborn and he was forced to either swallow it or risk choking on it. He chose swallowing and shortly, he fell into a deep sleep - assisted by the strong analgesic he'd been given.  
  
Legolas looked up from Haldir's bruised, swollen face to the kind face of Nestarion, chief among Lady Galadriel's healers. "Will he rest better now?" Legolas asked tiredly, at the end of his own strength. He was still in his bloodstained leggings and shirt from the battle, not having taken the time to even bathe or change into fresh clothing.   
  
Nestarion assured him that Haldir would sleep for several hours and urged him to have a care for himself lest he collapse from fatigue. "You need to bathe, my lord, and have your own wound seen to - the dressing needs changing," he gestured to where a now-soiled bandage covered a wound on Legolas right forearm, the result of an orc arrow glancing off his bow to slice his arm open despite his metal bracer. "You are fortunate that it wasn't envenomed," Nestarion added.  
  
Legolas brushed those concerns aside, although he did agree he desperately needed to bathe and change into clothes that weren't stiff with orc and other blood. A great deal of the "other" blood being Haldir's, of course. Just then Orophin came up and promised he would sit with Haldir as long as Legolas needed him to. "See to yourself, Greenleaf. Haldir wouldn't thank me for not urging you to seek your own rest." When Legolas still hesitated, both Nestarion and Orophin shooed him away so that he finally accepted he could go for awhile at least.  
  
Legolas made his way out of the huge healers' tent, stopping a couple of times on his way between the rows of cots when someone greeted him. Once outdoors, though, he breathed in the much cooler, fresher air and looked at skies that were blue and not tainted with the dark smoky clouds of evil. The orcish army was defeated here, and Sauron driven back from a foothold he'd tried to claim. Legolas knew much more would have to be done, many more battles fought before the Evil One's defeat was assured, but at least they'd beaten him here. As he took in the sad faces of many of the survivors, however, he fully understood the cost to both Elves and Men. All the orc and uruk-hai bodies had been dragged to large pits dug in the ground and burnt, then covered over with earth. The clouds of vultures and other carrion birds that had hung over the Helm's Deep the day after the battle were now gone. Even the stench of rotting bodies, thank the Valar, was gone. Perhaps, Legolas pondered, green plants would grow and cover even the areas of bare soil over the mass graves.   
  
And he was so lucky to have found Haldir in time. He shuddered - literally - to think of how things might have turned out if he'd not been so close to him when he'd fallen. He might have been collapsed over a small, private grave, mourning the unbearable loss of his life partner instead of sitting beside a live elf in the healers' tent, waiting for him to recover. Rúmil came up, limping, a large bandage wrapped around his thigh where he'd been stitched after an orc had slashed his leg midway between knee and hip. "Seron," Rúmil said, a little breathless from the exertion of climbing to the top of the hill to get to the tents of the healers, "Are you finally going to get some rest?"  
  
Legolas nodded, suddenly finding he could barely keep his eyes open or stop the yawns that threatened to crack his jaws. He and Haldir's brother chuckled together, the first laugh either of them had shared since before the battle. "And eat, I'm suddenly hungry enough to chew my way through an entire roast warg - or at least, a large roast duck!" Legolas rubbed his empty belly as he and Rúmil walked across to where they could get fed. Legolas was surprised to find he could have food brought to his tent, so he asked for several favorites, and a good-sized flask of his favorite wine if there was any to be had, then set off to his own small, temporary dwelling set amongst those of the other Mirkwood and Lorien elves.   
  
An hour later, stomach full, bathed and dressed in the light garments he preferred to sleep in unless he was lucky enough to be with Haldir, in which case they were both usually garbed only in their fair Elvish skins, Legolas at last lay down upon his bed. He snuggled under the fur coverlet, his head on the pillow Haldir used, breathing in his lover's scent. Sandalwood, vetiver and a soft spicey essence Haldir seemed to exude on his own without benefit of aromatic oils. The scent was as distinctly Haldir's as Legolas was sure his own preferred aromatics of Amber, Orris root and golden mallorn leaf were the scent Haldir thought of as "Legolas" when he inhaled it. Legolas could have found Haldir in the darkest night, indeed in a lightless cavern simply by following his nose, as he was positive Haldir could in turn locate him by scent alone.  
  
Legolas smiled, sliding one arm under Haldir's pillow and drawing even closer to it. Until his mate was back in his bed, he would have to make do with cuddling his pillow. As he drifted into reverie, he told himself it wasn't silly to hug his lover's pillow close and imagine it was the person himself. "Haldir," he breathed softly, lips curved in a gentle smile, then he was asleep, blue eyes blank with reverie as his body got the rest it needed so desperately.  
  
  
**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~  
  
  
The day after the debacle with the goldfish, Glorfindel and his brothers, Haldir saw Glorifindel under very different circumstances. This time, at least, he was properly dressed and this time, thank the Valar, his brothers were leagues away on guard duty with their patrol unit.  
  
Haldir was on the archery range practicing with a new bow his brothers gave him on his last begetting day. It had a stronger pull than any of his previous bows and was also longer, so he was having to make some adjustments in his normal way of sighting and shooting in order to be as accurate with it as he was with his other bows. Since he was renowned as an eagle-eyed archer, he did not want to be less than perfect - or as close to perfect as possible - with this new, beautiful weapon.  
  
He stood at mid-range from the large ringed target, having already shot his full quiver twice and retrieved the arrows to do it a third time. He was so deep in concentration that he was totally unaware that he was being observed for quite some time. This gave Glorfindel the opportunity to look his fill at the handsome young Marchwarden without being caught doing it. Not being stupid, Glorfindel took every advantage of the situation. He seated himself under a nearby tree, leaned comfortably back against the trunk, and watched Haldir's every move.  
  
The Marchwarden - taller than many elves Glorfindel knew from Imladris, Mirkwood or Lorien - was nevertheless no reedy, skinny elfling, all legs, arms and gangly wrists. Far from it. He was well built and muscular, although sleek with it. His thighs were strong, as were his calves, and his shapely ankles led to rather large feet, although as Glorfindel well knew, this didn't keep the beautiful Lorien from moving as silently as a hunting cat through the dense woods. He'd been hard pressed to keep up with him the day before when he'd followed him to the bathing pool because Haldir was so adept at moving soundlessly even across crackly dried leaves and through dense underbrush. So now, as he admired the strong legs, well-shaped, muscular hips and limber waist that tapered up into broad shoulders, Glorfindel smiled in anticipation because he knew there was grace as well as strength in that body. And, delightfully, a brain in the beautiful head also - at least, so he'd been told by those who knew him.  
  
After all, Glorfindel reasoned, he'd only spoken to the Marchwarden when he was at a distinct disadvantage. And a gold fish lodged in one's throat is nothing if not disadvantageous! Recalling the look of acute chagrin on the younger elf's face when he'd stood above Glorfindel on the embankment clad only in his shirt and his outraged dignity - and little else - Glorfindel almost laughed aloud all over again. He didn't want to reveal his presence just yet, however, so he stifled his amusement behind one large, sun-tinted hand and instead recalled the lust that had bloomed in him when he'd seen just about everything Haldir had to offer a lover and at very close range. He licked his lips now remembering.  
  
The thwack! of an arrow striking the straw-filled target brought him out of his lusty thoughts and Glorfindel couldn't resist applauding as he saw that an entire quiver full of white-fletched arrows stood either dead center or ringed around the dead center of a very small, faraway target. "Well done!" he called out when the Marchwarden, startled, instead of firing his last arrow at the target, spun on one heel and aimed it straight at him! "Don't shoot, I'm not your enemy!"  
  
Haldir lowered the bow and let the arrow fall from the string, scowling at the audience he wasn't aware he'd had. "That's not a very smart thing to do. I could have shot you just now, you know." He thudded the arrow back into its quiver, clearly displeased with the golden-haired warrior who sat beneath a large mallorn tree, obviously having been there for some time spying on him. "What did you think you were doing, sitting there?" Haldir was so irritated, it didn't occur to him to wonder why the other elf was there except to annoy him.  
  
Rising to his feet with the grace of a long-limbed cat, Glorfindel strolled over to Haldir to stand face to face with him. Their eyes were on a level and each stared into the blue gaze of the other - Glorfindel enjoying the other's discomfort, and the discomfitted one thinking here was one hero who needed to be taken down a notch - or three - he was so full of himself. Haldir stood his ground, eyes under drawn-down brows locked to the smiling face of the Balrog Slayer. Gods, the pest was beautiful! Haldir's pulse began to race despite his annoyance. What would it be like, he wondered, to have such a legend as a lover?

He was about to find out.  
  
Glorfindel was used to easy conquests - often he didn't have to do a thing beyond a smile, or perhaps something as subtle as a lowering of eyelids as he stared at the object of his lust. So when Haldir didn't seem to be overly impressed with being admired for his archery, and when a less-than-casual touch upon the Marchwarden's shoulder didn't produce the expected glazed-over look, Glorfindel was puzzled. Perhaps Haldir was playing hard-to-get? He redoubled his efforts.  
  
He helped the archer retrieve his arrows, remaining diffidently a step away from him, not touching, not giving him any looks other than casually friendly. Still nothing. He offered to carry quiver or bow, offered refreshment (of course in his guest suite, not at a common tavern and certainly not in the archer's own dwelling, which was probably cramped and spartan), offered accompaniment on a short walk. Finally, when he was about to give up, thinking perhaps he'd been mistaken and the maddeningly beautiful Marchwarden wasn't interested in male companionship, he hit upon an idea and decided to charm the pants off him. Literally. Whether he preferred male bed partners or not.  
  
Glorfindel picked a beautiful red rose and gave it to a bemused Haldir, then sweet-talked him into showing him how to shoot his bow, pretending an ignorance of archery that Haldir couldn't resist. If Glorfindel found himself standing in the embrace of the Marchwarden - even if it was ostensibly to correct his stance with the bow, he would be happy with the results of his afternoon's work. He made every effort to seem guileless and youthfully carefree. Because of his long years and his status as the Balrog Slayer, he wasn't used to not being at the very least admired and more likely being adored. The objects of his pursuit usually fell at his feet. This one stepped on his foot as he positioned his hands on the bow. "Ouch - no matter - I barely felt it," Glorfindel exclaimed laughingly when Haldir trod on him. Ai, the archer did have those large feet, didn't he?  
  
When Haldir jumped back to get off Glorfindel's foot, he tangled his wrist bracer in Glorfindel's embroidered shirtsleeve with the result that they had to both work to loose the armor from the fine stitches without ripping the golden threads or the heavy silk of the sleeve. Both golden heads bent over their work, they bumped foreheads lightly. "Sorry, sorry," Haldir muttered, and his voice quivered.  
  
Interesting, Glorfindel thought, the younger elf seemed to be more affected by his proximity than he'd thought. Perhaps the being charming business was working. Glorfindel glanced up, answered, "It doesn't matter - but you do have rather large feet, don't you?"  
  
"I - I - suppose I do," Haldir answered, chagrined. His brothers always teased him that with feet that large, he should put horses to shame with other parts of his anatomy. That thought passed through his head and he blushed, his face heating despite his wish not to show his uncertainty. He had thought he'd done well not just falling at his hero's elegantly-shod feet, and now this!  
  
Glorfindel gave Haldir a knowing look, his eyes traveling slowly down the archer's body, then back up, stopping at the high points in either direction. When he finished, he looked into Haldir's midnight blue eyes again, once more trying the sensually lowered eyelids and slightly pouting smile. Haldir's blush - that was charming. "It's not a problem," he murmured to the younger elf, stepping closer. He took a breath, inhaling Haldir's scent of sandalwood mixed with the clean sweat of his exertion on the practice field. Intoxicating! "You are very lovely, Haldir."  
  
Haldir gulped, suddenly unable to draw a breath because of the tightness of his chest and the uneven thump of his racing heart. "Y-you also are lovely, sir," he whispered back, inwardly dying because of the nervous stutter that chose that moment to surface. All such worries fled, however, because a moment later, Glorifindel was right up against him, his large hands were on Haldir's body - one on the nape of his neck under the thick fall of silver blond hair and the other on his hip, fondling the curve of his buttocks. Haldir gasped and immediately Glorfindel's head darted forward; his mouth came down and his tongue slid between Haldir's parted lips, taking advantage of the invitation he read in the gasp for air.  
  
Pressed full length against his long-time hero, Haldir felt everything - the older elf's strong thighs pressing against his own, the large hands and muscular arms moving as Glorfindel fondled his entire body, coming back again and again to squeeze his backside; the heat of the older elf's aroused shaft prodding his belly. And of course, his own hardened length pressing heatedly against Glorfindel. All his blood seemed to have rushed to his midsection and Haldir found himself, mind spinning, being picked up and carried into the thick undergrowth that edged the archery field.   
  
He wasn't sure how far Glorfindel carried him because the whole time he kept kissing him until Haldir hardly knew which end was up or where he was. After what seemed like hours, but was probably only a few minutes, he was lowered to the grassy surface of a small, indented hollow that was surrounded by sheltering brush and old growth mallorn trees. They may as well have been in a private, locked room instead of outdoors.   
  
Glorfindel was stroking Haldir's erect cock through the soft suede of his leggings with his right hand, while his left hand was busy undoing the lacings at his waistband that eventually freed Haldir's shaft to the afternoon's warm breezes. His shirt was somehow unfastened and drawn off him - his leather jerkin long since cast aside to hang from the nearest shrub. Glorfindel had Haldir unclothed and himself freed of his restricting leggings enough to do the business he'd come to transact before Haldir even totally took in the fact of his nudity. Or that his hero had climbed between his parted legs to take them, one in each strong hand, and push them up and back so that Haldir's knees were against his chest, leaving him totally exposed, open to whatever Glorfindel wanted to do.   
  
Haldir lay there under the sensual assault of Glorfindel's mouth and hands, actually holding his own legs out of the way so the older elf could plunder him wherever he pleased. He was in a passion-drunk daze, his pulses pounding all over but most strongly in the hardened shaft that stood proudly up from his belly, the hot, sweet juices already running from the exposed, swollen head. Even the wind's touch on his cock was practically unbearable, so when Glorfindel began fondling it, his strong, knowing fingers stroking and squeezing mercilessly, Haldir thought he was going to disgrace himself right then by shooting his essence all over himself and his much more experienced lover as if he were the rankest elfling having his first bout. "Ai, take me!" he heard himself beg, and blushed dark crimson in embarrassment at the whine in his voice. "Please - please," came from him next, then Glorfindel stopped his mouth with his tongue, plunging it deep in sensual imitation of what he was going to do shortly, lower down on Haldir's body.  
  
Haldir writhed under the beautiful older elf, begging whenever Glorfindel lifted his mouth off him long enough for Haldir to drag in enough air to speak. And when a long index finger pushed into Haldir's nether opening aided by Glorfindel's having lubricated it with Haldir's own hot-running juices, Haldir cried out hoarsely, his head whipping from side to side so that his silver hair spread like a fine-spun net on the green, green grass under him. Glorfindel stroked him mercilessly, opening and dilating the tight passage, adding a second finger and then a third until Haldir began to feel more pain than he had anticipated. He cried out in protest but the younger's elf's hoarse cries and exclamations were music to Glorfindel's ears. "Ah, yes, young one, soon now you will have what you need," he crooned, totally mistaking Haldir's responses for acquiescence.  
  
Glorfindel took hold of Haldir's thick, curving erection and stroked it from root to tip and back, his hand moving down to squeeze and fondle the velvet-skinned sac that hung behind it, pulling lightly on the silver hairs that grew there like fine mithril wires. "I'm going to take you now, my beauty," he informed Haldir, who lay gasping beneath him, still holding his legs back against his chest, staring up at him with eyes so wide they appeared more black than blue. "Do you want this?" Glorfindel asked in a silky voice, all the while tapping the head of his erect cock against Haldir's star-shaped opening.  
  
"No, please," Haldir begged, "Saes, saes! Please stop!" He'd never experienced a full coupling like this promised to be - only taken a warrior's comfort from a companion when on duty in the wilds of Lorien and that only by oral means or by use of his or the other elf's hands. He'd never been penetrated, and even though he'd thought he wanted it, he was beginning to be very frightened of what he sensed were Glorfindel's intentions.   
  
"Shhhh," Glorfindel uttered. Being coy, was he? Glorfindel slid a palm under Haldir's hips and lifted him to the proper angle, then breeched him fully in one deep, hard push that had the younger elf crying out in shocked pain, then, a moment or two later when Glorfindel's shaft dragged over the deeply hidden pleasure source inside his tight passage, the cry of pain changed to a hoarse scream. Rolling his hips in a timeless rhythm, Glorfindel angled his strokes to rub over the prostate every time he thrust until Haldir could only groan, his hips lifting seemingly of their own volition to answer the movements of the elf on top of him. It eased the pain somewhat for him to answer Glorfindel's thrusts, but still, he felt he was being torn apart, battered, with no way out of the situation. Haldir gave up fighting, limbs loosely joggling with each hard push of the elder elf into his body. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes to run down his temples into his sweat-dampened hair.   
  
Glorfindel sensed the moment he had full control over his partner when Haldir's body went totally limp and pliable beneath his. With a triumphant smile, Glorfindel began thrusting faster and deeper, pumping harder until their heated flesh smacked together and Haldir felt as if he were being pummeled inside by the weapon of Glorfindel's huge staff. Now, he began to really plead for Glorfindel to stop, but he didn't heed his much younger, much less experienced partner.   
  
"No, no, no. . ." Haldir cried, but his voice wouldn't cooperate and all that came from his mouth was a soft whisper of protest that Glorfindel either didn't hear or didn't heed.  
  
Glorfindel felt his climax approaching and thrust all the harder, going painfully deep until, unable to move as orgasm overtook him, he paused - his shaft breeching Haldir as deeply as it was possible without climbing inside him - then, the climax upon him, Glorfindel threw his head back and shouted his pleasure to the skies, shooting bolt after bolt of scalding hot seed into the younger elf's over-stimulated body. He thrust a couple more times, then withdrew, causing the half-stunned younger elf to wince in pain, another half-coherent protest uttered in a whisper. Glorfindel ignored it all and kissed Haldir, his tongue plunging in to stroke the entire interior of Haldir's mouth before he sat back and got off him. "Ai, that was good!" he told Haldir, who lay with eyes clenched shut, hands fisted in the grass on either side of him, legs sprawled limply on the ground now that he no longer held himself ready for the older elf's pleasure.  
  
"You did not finish, young one - ai, never mind, that sometimes happens if it's your first time to be mounted - it IS your first time, is it not, youngling?" When Haldir only nodded once, misery writ on his face, his eyes still shut as if he couldn't bear to look at him, Glorfindel chuckled knowingly and slapped Haldir on the nearest hip. "Never mind, next time you will fire off like a stallion, I'll see to it." And with that, he got up, refastened his leggings, straightened his rucked shirt and disordered hair, and walked away through the bushes, leaving Haldir lying on his back on the grass like a used handkerchief. Which was pretty much what he felt like - used, abandoned, not good for much beyond what he'd just provided the former hero of his youthful fervor. On his way, Glorfindel trampled unseeing over the red petals of the rose leaving them scattered amongst the weeds.  
  
Eventually, after his half-erect shaft finally subsided, victim of its possesor's feelings of misery and shame, Haldir sat up and began hunting up his clothes. He dressed slowly, every joint, muscle and opening of his body feeling abused and over-stretched. The fastenings of his shirt were beyond his shaking fingers, and walking was painful, as he quickly found as he struggled back to the archery field through the underbrush, getting lost twice even though the area was as familiar to him as the back of his own hand. He prayed no one was practicing, and thank the Valar, nobody was there to see his rather ignominious progress, limping across the field, then down the tree-shaded lane that led to his talan. He only hoped neither of his brothers or any of his friends would be around to see his state so that he could make it into his own safe haven without being caught.   
  
He wanted nobody fussing over him. It was bad enough, he scolded himself, that he'd let his hero worship and inexperience with sexual relationships lead him into giving himself (at first) and then being literally raped (further into it), then left to fend for himself like so much refuse. Head spinning now, dizzy, he made it halfway up the winding stairs to his talan before his brother Orophin's voice sounded from the neighboring platform. "Haldir? Brother - have you hurt yourself practicing?" he called out, concerned at Haldir's slow, limping progress up stairs he normally climbed two or three at a time.  
  
Haldir squeezed his eyes shut briefly, then turned with what he hoped was a carefree grin, only to have it wobble and his voice fail him when he tried to call a lying answer across the short distance between them. After that, he could only stand there, head down, miserable, and wait for Orophin to run swiftly down from the talan he and Rúmil shared, then come plunging up behind Haldir until they were standing on a level. "Haldir!" Orophin exclaimed in shock, "Seron, what has happened? Were you attacked? You must come with me to see the healers. . ." his words breaking off when he saw the look on his brother's face. Then Orophin simply took Haldir by the hand and led him up the remaining stairs and into his own talan, where he shut the door behind them and led Haldir into his bedroom. "Sit, brother, and tell me what has taken place that you come home like this? Has someone beaten you, robbed you perchance?"  
  
He was busy helping his brother out of his leather jerkin, exclaiming when he saw the grass stains on the fine white linen shirt that Haldir normally took such care to keep clean, it being one of his few good ones that wasn't stained or ripped from duty on the marches. Then his eye fell on a dark red bruise forming on Haldir's throat, and he pushed the shirt's collar aside gently to see the mark spreading along most of Haldir's fair-skinned neck. "Elbereth - Haldir - sweet one - who has done this to you? Who would dare?"  
  
Haldir looked up with swimming eyes and finally said in a very small voice, "Glorfindel."  
  
"By the Valar!" Orophin exclaimed, angrier than he could ever remember being. "That bastard - taking advantage of someone less than a quarter his age - he will be punished for that, brother, I promise you."   
  
"What's this?" Rúmil's voice interrupted. He stood in the doorway of Haldir's bedroom, one hand on the knob, eyes wide as he took in the miserable face of his older brother and the fury on the face of his younger sibling. With a hiss of anger, he crossed the room in one step and bent to look at the marks on Haldir's throat. Not asking if Haldir wanted him to, Rúmil opened the crookedly fastened shirt and spread the fabric apart, revealing bruises and bitemarks - some oozing blood - scattered across Haldir's entired upper body. His right nipple was bitten severely and to Rúmil it looked as though it would need stitching. "By the gods, who did this?" He demanded.

Once again, Haldir whispered the name of his attacker, looking up now with a pleading expression, "But don't tell anyone - it's not his fault, I practically begged him to take me. He just lost his head and got a little too aggressive is all."  
  
Orophin wasn't having any of that. "Haldir, you may be older than I, but that story would be pitiful even if it came from the mouth of a rank elfling, and you, dear brother, are no elfling."  
  
"That's what I mean," Haldir said, desperate to stop his brothers from telling anyone what had happened. He could just picture the scandal - Lady Galadriel's reaction - he would be disgraced in her eyes, she who had taken such an interest in his career - and as for the members of his patrol - he was sure they would ostracize him. Positive his captain would ask for him to be replaced. "Please do not tell anyone!"  
  
Both his brothers, even though they were younger than he, over-ruled Haldir's protests. They shortly had him unclothed - being very gentle with him, and were furious to see blood on his inner thighs and backside where Glorfindel had torn him. "You're bleeding - that's it - we're taking you to Nestarion - now!" Orophin stood over him, arms crossed on his chest, face implacable. Haldir knew they would ignore his wishes. He knew Celeborn and Galadriel would find out - everyone would find out - but he also knew his brothers would literally haul him off his feet and carry him to the healer, so he pulled on unsullied, soft clothing as it was handed to him by Rúmil and allowed them to help him down the long curving stairs to the ground.  
  
As they supported him, one on each side, they found their way impeded by the members of various patrols on their way in and out from duty. They were hailed by many other Marchwardens - all three of them being very popular with their fellows, especially Rúmil - and had to make excuses why they couldn't stop and chat, although they put the best face on it they could to not let on why they were so hurried in their greetings and farewells. At last, with as little delay as possible given the situation, they reached the large building at the foot of one of the oldest mallorns in the forest around the city - the healers of Lorien were based there, and Nestarion, Lady Galadriel's personal physician, ran this clinic himself.  
  
"I'd rather not go in there," Haldir said in a soft voice, knowing he would be overruled. He felt so badly, however, that he put up virtually no fight beyond that and was soon inside and in a quiet, smallish room where patients were treated. Would Nestarion be critical of him, he wondered, once he saw the nature of his wounds? Would he inform the Lady of Haldir's state? His stomach roiled as he contemplated his possible - nay, probable - disgrace.  
  
His life was over. He would have to leave Lorien now, leave his brothers and the life he loved. . .he bent his head so his brothers would not see the tears that fell onto his hands, folded in his lap like a very young elfling's would be if he was about to be chastised by a teacher or parent for some misdeed. Just then, Orophin's warm hand cupped his jaw and lifted his face, "Seron - you've done nothing wrong aside from using some flawed judgement, please do not be so hard on yourself." He wiped the wetness off Haldir's cheeks with his somewhat rough fingers, leaning down to press a reassuring kiss onto his older brother's tangled, silver hair. "Be easy in your heart, sweet one, you'll feel better when Nestarion has seen to your injuries."  
  
Haldir only wished he could believe that was so.  
  
There followed a painful interlude wherein Haldir was examined, his bite wounds treated - the one on his right nipple stitched as his brother had thought it would be - and his inner passage also stitched where he had been torn, although as it turned out, not badly, just painfully. Nestarion and his chief assistant annointed each wound with a soothing lotion and gave a flask of it to Haldir to use twice a day thereafter until the lesions were healed. "You must have the stitches out in seven days, Haldir," Nestarion ordered firmly, seeing the stubborn expression on the younger elf's face. "There will be no removing them yourself - after all, how would you even reach the ones, um, back there?" He pointed towards Haldir's abused rear, making Haldir blush deep red.  
  
Nestarion patted his patient on the shoulder, then admitted his two siblings, who had been impatiently waiting in an outer chamber. As they surrounded their brother with their heartfelt care and concern, Nestarion could not help smiling. It was ever so with these three - orphaned long since, the two younger elves literally raised by their older brother, they had such a depth of devoted affection for one another it was hard to be around them and not be affected by it. Now, for instance, as they helped their brother dress, aiding him - touching him with gentle pats and kisses, seeing to his comfort to the best of their ability - it warmed Nestarion's heart.  
  
"Now remember, seven days and you must return for me to take out the stitches, understood?" At Haldir's reluctant nod and promise, Nestarion smiled and shooed them out of the treatment room. "Go, get plenty of rest - take the contents of the bottle there on the table before bedtime tonight and for the next several nights - it will help you sleep. And be sure to call on me if there are any problems - Haldir, I mean it!" Nestarion called after the departing trio.  
  
Rúmil turned and nodded to show he would make sure his brother did as he was told, then Nestarion gave one last wave as they left, closing the door behind themselves. His assistant was immediately at his side. "Are you going to tell The Lady of this?" He was quite aware of what had happened to Haldir.  
  
Nestarion heaved a sigh, then nodded. "Yes, I will go now, in fact, although it will not be a very joyous meeting, I'm sure." Glorfindel was a guest, after all, and a hero. He had come with Lord Elrond from Imladris and was very well respected and honored. Some might not believe he had behaved as he had, but Nestarion, who had found long, golden hairs caught in the threads of Haldir's shirt and tangled amongst his silver blond locks, knew he told the truth. Glorfindel, hero, Balrog Slayer, had raped Haldir, favored by The Lady and loved by his many friends and his two devoted brothers.  
  
The results of this were not going to be pleasant. Another sigh, then Nestarion went to relay the information to Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel.  
  
TBC  
  
**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~  
  
  
  
Translations:  
  
  
  
Melethron - Sindarin for "Lover" or "Darling"   
  
Meleth - Love (Sindarin)  
  
Meldir - Friend (Sindarin)  
  
Seron - Brother (Sometimes used to mean good friend)(Sindarin)   
  
Saes - Please


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haldir wakes after Helm's Deep suffering terrible injuries. As he slowly recovers, he recalls years before and the adventures (and misadventures) of his younger days.

The voice was back again - sweet, seductive, calling to him - calling to him to do. . .something. It hurt, and he didn't want to go to the voice. He wanted to stay, he had already almost crossed over and wanted to finish his journey, be with his family members already waiting there for him.   


He raised a hand, batted away that insistent whisper, the honey toned voice he loved. He wanted to walk across the beautiful bridge - built of white stone that was semi-transparent, like clouded glass. It arched over a waterfall higher than any he'd ever seen anywhere on Arda; rainbow mists of water rose high in the air from it so that the bridge appeared to arc right into the sky. It was so lovely. And friends were there - his parents as well - beloved faces from his youth and long past. He so wanted to cross to them.   
  
But that voice wouldn't let him. And though he loved its wielder, he also thought it was the voice that was keeping him where he was - hurting, body torn and feverish, tormented by visions of the fierce battle he'd barely survived. "I want to go," he said peevishly.  
  
"No, meleth, you will not - I won't let you!" The voice was louder now, right at his ear, speaking urgently to him.   
  
It was so loud he could no longer hear the beautiful music made by the falling waters, no longer make out the calls from friends and family long departed. "No - I want - I want to go to them - Ada! Naneth!"  
  
Haldir woke from his fever dream, body jerking, pain shooting along all his jangled nerve endings. "Aughhh," he moaned, forcing himself to look into the face bent so closely over him, "Why? Why do you not let me go?"  
  
Legolas, so weary from his long hours of vigil at Haldir's bedside, dragged an unsteady hand through sweat dampened locks and whispered, "Because it's not your time yet - I won't let you go - you have much to do here!"  
  
"Please," Haldir heard the abject pleading in what was left of his voice. At any other time, he would have despised anyone who begged in such a way unless they were at Death's door. But then, Haldir supposed he was - it was just the stubborn Mirkwood Prince who kept him anchored to his broken body - the body that did nothing but hurt and burn so that his feä begged for release. "I'm ready, why won't you let me go?"  
  
Legolas wanted to shake Haldir. Only the thought of the severe injuries he had suffered and how they would react to being shaken actually kept him from doing just that. "Because," he finally answered wearily, "I love you. I need you here with me - we have work to do." Legolas was so weary, but he had to add to that, "And I love you dearly, husband, I will not be parted from you."  
  
Haldir stared at Legolas for a long time, fighting to make his eyes focus. When they finally did, what he saw in the implacable blue gaze aimed at him made him blink in wonderment. Such love in that dear face - and when had his lovely elfling prince gotten so mature, so strong of will? So - bossy?  
  
**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**  
  
Haldir dreaded facing Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel after the incident with Glorfindel. It had to be his fault, he told himself. He must have done something wrong, given some hint to the Balrog Slayer that led him to do what he had done to Haldir in that little hidden grove in the forest. There must be some lack in himself that conveyed the wrong message to Glorfindel and he would have to admit that to the rulers of Lothlorien now.  
  
He climbed the last steps up to the high platform in the huge mallorn where they dwelled. He would rather have faced a dozen rabid orcs - ten dozen! - than face the Lady now that he was. . .tainted. Haldir dragged in an unsteady breath and nodded greeting to the paired guards outside the doors of the reception chamber. "I'm expected," he said softly.  
  
Without a word, not really even looking at him, he nevertheless felt the guards somehow drew themselves aside from him as he passed. They knew he was unclean, he decided. He stifled the urge to turn and run back down the curving steps to the ground far below. It would do no good to run anyway, he knew, the Lady would find him, reach out to him with her thoughts and know exactly where he was. Better to face it now.  
  
He stepped inside the grand room with its ancient branches curving up, up to disappear still farther above, so high above the ground it may as well have been in Mandos itself. Tiny golden butterflies flitted in those high branches, light flashing off their wings as their flight caught and reflected the light of the waning afternoon sun. Lower down, the chamber's walls were cunningly woven so that natural openings formed windows that looked out on the surrounding forest. The lights of Caras Galadhon were beginning to come on as the sun slid toward the horizon of night. He caught glimpses of distant tiny figures walking along the suspended stairs and bridges between the huge, ancient trees. Here were the homes of the very elite Galadhrim. And there - just outside the largest window across the back of the chamber, was the bridge that led to the Lord and Lady's private quarters. And over there. . .  
  
"Good evening, Haldir," the Lady's voice startled him, interrupting his self-led tour of the reception chamber.  
  
Haldir caught himself and bowed, right hand over his heart, hoping she hadn't noticed the slight delay in his respectful gesture. Gods, he'd been gaping out their windows like the rankest elfling come to town from the back woods to see the sights. A light touch on his mind, then, and he heard the silvery tinkle of the Lady's laughter. Startled, Haldir straightened and met her cerulean blue eyes. "My Lady," he murmured.  
  
"Haldir," she answered softly, "I am so sorry about what has happened, lirimaer, are you well enough to be here? Have you seen the healers?" With that, she seated herself on a thickly cushioned bench, patting a place next to her, indicating he should sit beside her.  
  
Startled by the gesture, Haldir obediently sat. "I - I am fine, my Lady," he answered, cheeks burning hot in embarassment. "I should be able to return to duty in a few days, they said." It pained him to walk, his internal stitches pulled and his bruises ached. A guardian distracted by such discomfort could not perform his duties properly, he knew, but still, he felt everyone in his patrol must know why Haldir suddenly was unfit for duty.  
  
"They do not know, sweet one, trust me in this," Galadriel spoke aloud, one cool, pale hand coming to rest on his, knotted in his lap. She rested her palm there until he relaxed and his tense fingers untangled themselves. "There is no blame to you in this matter, Haldir."  
  
"How can you say that, Lady?!? I must have led him on - there must be something that I did or said that let Lord Glor. . .let him believe I was amenable to his wishes." He had trouble even speaking Glorfindel's name aloud now. And he knew he had been willing - at first - and had gone along with everything the Balrog Slayer had done.   
  
"You were over-awed with him, dear one, and, I'm afraid to say it, naive and too trusting. It seems to me Lord Glorfindel assumed your acquiescence in the beginning meant you acquiesced to everything. In short, he presumed too much, and proceeded accordingly."  
  
Haldir hung his head, staring down at the fine wool rug under their feet. "I worshipped him since I was an elfling," he said in a low voice. "I was flattered he found me attractive in that way - I didn't really think it through, realize that he had much more sophisticated tastes." He raised his head and turned to her, his cheeks still flaming, "I let him pick me up and carry me there like a witless adolescent!" His hands came up, covering his eyes, "Gods, I was ripe for it - I deserved what I got for being so stupidly naive!"  
  
When nothing was forthcoming from the Lady, Haldir dared to look up. Her ice-blue eyes were on him, studying him closely, but there was no ire there - only disappointment. At least that's how he read it. She was disappointed in him! Ai, Elbereth! He only barely resisted dragging hands through his carefully braided hair. This was going to be a dismissal - he had been correct. Sadness smote him like the blade of a very dull, very rusty sword. He actually doubled up with the pain, breath panting until he was light-headed from taking in too much oxygen. What would he do now? Where would he go? Dimly, he became aware that someone was supporting him, that the long, cool fingers stroking his hot face were the Lady's, and that it was her voice murmuring reassurances into his ears.   
  
"Sweet one, do not blame yourself for this for you are not at fault here," Galadriel said firmly but kindly. "And I do not think Lord Glorfindel is an evil man, although he apparently has a complete lack of self-control." With that she scowled, looking up over Haldir's shoulder. "I did not request your presence," she said with glacial finality.  
  
Haldir sat up and looked over his shoulder where he met the eyes of his seducer. His stomach turned over. Galadriel's hands gripped his and he turned back to find her fierce blue eyes shooting daggers at Glorfindel before her expression softened as she brought her gaze back to Haldir. "Please - sit you down over there, sweeting, and let me deal with this." She indicated that Haldir should seat himself on one of the luxuriously cushioned chairs by the railing of her private balcony. Aware that this was a rare privilege, Haldir bowed to her in respectful thanks and retreated to the far side of the chamber.  
  
Galadriel advanced on Glorfindel, her pace the slow stalk of a major predator after its prey. Had she been garbed in mail, armor and helm, Haldir thought, she could not have been more of a warrior than she appeared in her lovely white gown with her shining flaxen hair tumbling in waves down below her hips. She was as close to the Goddess Elbereth as an elf could be, he thought in awe, knowing she was old - old! - and had lived since before the Firstborn left the Twin Trees to disperse upon the lands of Middle Earth. He noticed that Glorfindel stood his ground even though she stopped so close in front of him that her breath must puff across his face as she spoke.  
  
"Why have you come uninvited, Glorfindel?" she demanded. Steel inhabited every syllable of her query.  
  
"Because, Lady, I wished to speak to you in my defense," Glorfindel answered. Although his normal devil-may-care charm colored his voice, there was some steel under it, a lack of the awe any other elf would feel facing Galadriel. For the first time, Haldir could actually believe he was almost as old as the Lady herself. They were two relics of long gone-by ages and power oozed off them as they faced one another, neither of them willing to give an inch.   
  
"You attacked my Marchwarden," Galadriel spat, "I will not tolerate that, no matter who you are, Glorfindel. It is unacceptable behavior."  
  
"He was willing," Glorfindel insisted, glancing over to where the former object of his lust sat on velvet and silk cushions, his silver hair draping over the shoulders of his gray Marchwarden's tunic, looking for all the world like a youngster play-acting at being a soldier. The Guardian was so beautiful, Glorfindel thought to himself, slightly distracted by the pleasing contours of Haldir's face despite the rage of the small elleth standing in front of him. But he was not subject to her, thank the Valar, he was a subject of Lord Elrond of Imladris, and did not answer to Lady Galadriel nor to her consort, Lord Celeborn, who had apparently heard their raised voices and come to see for himself what was taking place.  
  
Glorfindel inclined his head respectfully to Celeborn, then gave his full attention to Galadriel once more. "He was willing," he repeated in a tone of voice that brooked no denials. "Ask him." With that, he looked at Haldir once more. The silver-haired beauty, though, did not shrink under his regard - which was admirable, Glorfindel thought. Now, if the foolish elfling had just not run to tell mommy tales about his first fucking, he would not be in this position, forced to defend himself against the second-thought lies of a just-barely-adult, almost still a virgin Haldir.  
  
Celeborn leaned against the trunk of the ancient mallorn and smiled gently at the Balrog Slayer. "Oh, we have asked him, be assured of that. Galadriel and I have both searched his mind and heard his spoken words as well, Glorfindel, and he speaks the truth when he says you raped him."  
  
"What!?!" Glorfindel exclaimed indignantly, "You believe his bleats of this supposed rape, which we all know are nothing more than the results of his guilty conscience chiding him because he enjoyed being taken? You accept his puling whines as truth and perceive my explanation of what really happened as false?"  
  
Haldir bristled. Bleats, was it? Puling whines? He'd never bleated nor whined in his life, and it had been totally against his wishes that he'd been made to tell what had happened. Only his brothers' insistence and that of the healer Nestarion had persuaded him to speak of it at all. He would have carried on as though nothing happened if it were not for their interference.  
  
Celeborn walked over to where the Marchwarden sat and stood just behind him, dropping a friendly hand onto Haldir's shoulder, giving him a light squeeze of reassurance. Strengthened by that, Haldir forced his temper down and felt much bolstered by the support from the Lord of Lothlorien.  
  
Glorfindel sneered. "Ah, now I see how it is here - is he your catamite, Celeborn? Have you permission from Galadriel to take a lover more to your liking after being bound to her for all these centuries?"  
  
To Haldir, it seemed as if bolts of icy white light shot out from Galadriel's body as her temper at last broke free of the tight rein she'd beld on it. He squinted, unable to look fully at the pair standing transfixed in the center of the large room. There came a loud cracking sound - a hugely crystalline ringing noise - that was followed by dead silence except for the wind gusting in from the now-shattered panes of almost every window in the large chamber.  
  
Haldir gaped, jaw dropped in awe. Somehow, by whatever powers she possessed - and they were formidable - Galadriel had vented her temper on Glorfindel. Haldir wasn't sure if she had actually touched him with her hands, but she had knocked him flat with the force of the blow she had struck. The Balrog slayer lay supine on the floor, pale as death, limp as a ragdoll. As Haldir stared, Glorfindel took in several gasping breaths before sitting up, eyeing Galadriel much more warily now. He glanced from her to Celeborn, apparently reading the same expression on the Lord of 'Lorien's face before dragging himself to his feet.  
  
"You will now apologize to Haldir," Galadriel commanded, her voice like the cut of a diamond.  
  
"I - I apologize," Glorfindel murmured, inclining his head toward Haldir, who remained seated by the balcony railing, the wind now whipping his moonlight hair about his face.  
  
"More sincerely," Galadriel chided Glorfindel, who shot her a very brief look of annoyance before schooling his features into a blank mask. When Celeborn twitched as though to add something, she made a small gesture with one hand that had even he going silent and still.  
  
"I apologize for what happened," Glorfindel said in a more sincere tone of voice. "I won't bother you again." And this time he actually bowed one of his elegant bows, hand over his heart as though he meant it.  
  
Haldir nodded, accepting the apology, then casually turned his face to the outdoors, letting the dying wind play with his hair and caress his face. He had never seen Glorfindel looking diffident. Indeed, he'd never seen Glorfindel looking anything but self-assured and imperious, so to have him apologizing and then bowing to him was quite an occurrence. Tears stung his eyes as he realized how much the apology - the sincere one - meant to him. He hoped the occasionally gusty breeze dried their telltale marks before either Galadriel or Celeborn noticed them. He'd appeared weak enough before them already.  
  
"He has gone, sweeting," Galadriel said, standing right beside him.  
  
When had she moved from her position in the center of the room, Haldir wondered. Truly he was either still very distracted or perhaps slightly deaf from that huge sound she'd created knocking the Balrog slayer on his backside without even touching him. "H-how did you do that?" Haldir asked before thinking she might not want him to know such secrets.  
  
Galadriel grinned, "Magic, dear one, magic." Celeborn snorted, barely concealing his mirth at her claim. She gave him a roll of her turquoise eyes and turned back to her Marchwarden. "And now, Haldir - you must get over this notion that this was your doing. I cannot have you on duty worrying over something that you had no control over, nor can I have you plotting your own revenge on Glorfindel. What I've done to him will take some time to undo, and besides, he is returning to Imladris posthaste, so he will no longer be around to be a threat to you."  
  
"What you've done to him?" Haldir queried. Had he missed something - it would seem so.  
  
Celeborn stirred, a somewhat uncomfortable expression on his face. "She, erm, tampered with his libido, shall we say."  
  
"Hah," Galadriel laughed maliciously, "He won't be able to engage in any sexual behavior - even with himself - for several months." She continued smiling, explaining, "I planted an idea in his head, lirimaer. He won't have a lustful thought for sometime to come without the feeling of being knocked flat by me interfering with his body's reaction to a sexual stimulus."  
  
"In short," Celeborn clarified for Haldir, "she as good as castrated him, except all that glorious physicality of his will be there, just as numb as if it were suddenly gone."  
  
Haldir gulped, thinking it was a good thing none of the blame for this evening's goings on was put on his shoulders. Or any other part of his body, for that matter.  
  
TBC  
  
**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**  
  
  
Translations:  
  
lirimaer - "Lovely one"  
Melethron - Sindarin for "Lover" or "Darling"   
Meleth - Love (Sindarin)  
Meldir - Friend (Sindarin)  
Seron - Brother (Sometimes used to mean good friend)(Sindarin)   
Saes - Please


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haldir wakes after Helm's Deep suffering terrible injuries. As he slowly recovers, he recalls years before and the adventures (and misadventures) of his younger days.

Legolas climbed to the top of the rise where the healers' tents still decorated the landscape, white canvas with colored pennons snapping above them. Green for Mirkwood, blue with gold for Imladris, pale grey with silver for Gondor and pristine white with a golden mallorn tree for Lothlorien. . .the colors identified which tents were run by which kingdoms, although all comers were welcome at every one of them because during a battle and immediately after there was no distinction made in the quality of mercy doled out by the healers. After, however, patients were usually moved to the tents run by their compatriots, and thus it was that Haldir was in the largest of the white tents of 'Lorien and had been from the beginning - the stretcher bearers who'd carried him from the field had been from 'Lorien and had naturally gone there. And a good thing, too, Legolas thought, peeking around the tentflap to find Nestarion emerging from the fabric-walled chamber in which Haldir rested. The very best of the healers were at the disposal of the Lady of Light, even Elrond of Imladris admitted that, but then, the 'Lorien healers often sought out Elrond's aid for he was a healer of much renown and deservedly so.  
  
"How does he this morning?" Legolas asked softly, not wanting to wake anyone who might be sleeping. His heart thudded irregularly when he saw the expression - hastily veiled - on the healer's face. "Tell me," he commanded, his voice firm.  
  
Nestarion sighed, washing his hands in an alabaster basin, then drying them on a pristine linen towel. That done, he faced the Mirkwood prince and told him the truth. "He has some symptoms that bother me - I believe from the fall and the facial injuries."  
  
Legolas gulped, steeling himself. "He will be scarred?" Elves have almost magical powers to heal from injuries, but sometimes an injury is so severe that the telltale traces of it would remain visible for a long time. Burns, for instance, often left terrible scarring for years until the elven skin was finally able to heal smoothly and present an undamaged appearance once more. Thank the Valar, Haldir was not burned, Legolas thought.  
  
"Not severely and not permanently, no," Nestarion reassured the prince. Legolas Thranduilion, he thought, might sometimes give the false impression that he was weak or dainty, but beneath the almost ethereal beauty was a strong mind and a valiant heart, so he told him the truth. "I'm concerned because he's having problems with the vision in his right eye and the headaches have not lessened; indeed, they have grown worse."  
  
For the past week, Haldir had been beset by throbbing headaches that left him groaning with pain, intolerant of light and strong scents, and prostrate for hours under the iron fist of agony that inevitably left him sobbing until, exhausted, he would fall into a fitful sleep.  
  
"My naneth had such headaches," Legolas told the healer. When he raised a questioning eyebrow, Legolas continued, "they appeared to be somehow connected to her female cycle, but later, after her childbearing years had passed, they made her life a living torment with no rhyme nor reason to their grasp on her." They walked outside for a breath of air, enjoying the crisp air now that the unnatural weather caused by Sauron had dissipated, leaving that area of Rohan once more enjoying the last of a normal winter. Both elves seated themselves on large bits of the fallen Deeping wall sent hurtling through the air when the wall was breached during the battle.  
  
"What did your healers do for your mother?" Nestarion wanted to know. He was always eager to share and absorb medical lore of any kind - perhaps in Mirkwood they used a different method to treat such illnesses.  
  
Legolas thought back, remembering trips into the deep woods to find and gather herbs and medicinal plants. "I recall their giving her strong teas brewed using Tanacetum - and she seemed better if they massaged lavender oil on her temples, although she was very sensitive around the face, so often she could not bear that." Legolas frowned, remembering how he'd pitied his beautiful blond mother when she'd been laid low by the severe megrims. He glanced up at Nestarion, "So, you're saying Haldir has something like my nana had?"  
  
"Possibly - or perhaps something similar caused by the blow to his face. I am going to seek counsel with Lord Elrond, I understand he has much experience in treating this kind of ailment and perhaps he will have further insight."  
  
"That's an excellent idea," Legolas agreed. Lord Elrond had treated Legolas himself on several occasions when he had sustained wounds in various skirmishes with Orcs and even the Nazgul. Once, he had healed Legolas after he'd been severely bitten by the poisonous spiders that inhabited Mirkwood. He shuddered at that particular memory. When Nestarion raised a questioning eyebrow, Legolas related the episode. "I've never been so ill as I was after the spider bite."  
  
"I'm sure you have not," Nestarion agreed. "Their venom is among the most caustic and filthy with diseases as well."  
  
They grimaced at one another and Legolas added, "Ever since, I cannot abide a spider of any kind, I'm afraid, even a simple tiny spider with no evil blood in it is no friend of mine."  
  
"I'm inclined to agree with you," Nestarion answered. Just then, another, younger healer came running up with an urgent request that Nestarion come to the tent of the Rohan healers to give his advice on a very ill patient. He took his leave of Legolas, promising to look in on Haldir later that day.  
  
Legolas sat for a moment or two, sighed and went into the draped chamber that housed Haldir. He approached the cot carefully, not wanting to make unnecessary noise or even jostle Haldir, who was apparently sleeping. Once beside him, Legolas looked down at his lover, sadness almost overwhelming him when he saw how drawn Haldir's face was, how much paler he was than even his usual fairness. Sitting on the chair next to the bed, Legolas bent and pressed a soft kiss to Haldir's forehead, startled to find it coldly clammy rather than warm with fever as it had so often been. He supposed it was the headache's grip on him that was the cause of that.  
  
Haldir opened his eyes. His right eye had returned to an almost normal state since the swelling had gone down. Legolas' stomach lurched when he noticed how Haldir seemed to have difficulty finding him. The chamber was dimly lit to be easy on Haldir's sensitive eyes, but he should have been well able to see someone sitting right there beside his cot. "I am here, meleth," Legolas said in a low voice.  
  
Haldir turned his head towards the sound and blinked several times before a shadow of his usual smile curved his full lips. "I missed you," he said, sounding somewhat hoarse. "You were gone a long time."  
  
"Only an hour, lirimaer - you have been sleeping since before I left."  
  
Haldir frowned, forehead creased as he fought to overcome the analgesics he'd been given so he could think straight. A small gasp, quickly stifled, and he lifted his right hand to press to his cheek and jaw. "A plague on all Uruk-hai axes," he joked softly.  
  
Legolas took hold of that hand, kissing the long, elegant fingers, then kissing Haldir's face where he'd been touching it. "Let me kiss the pain away, my warrior - and tell you that I passed along some information to Nestarion just now that might end up easing your headaches." He explained, although he could tell that Haldir's attention wandered as the throbbing of the migraine waxed and waned. Finally, however, the Guardian was unable to control it and Legolas was forced to call for a healer to bring more of the analgesic tea they were using to help the pain. "And perhaps some warm water and cloths - warm packs on her face used to ease my mother's pain."  
  
The healer - Nestarion's eldest son - swiftly brought the tea and the supplies for some warm compresses. Once Legolas showed his ability to handle them, the healer left him alone with Haldir once more. Legolas held the cup to Haldir's lips and made sure he swallowed a goodly sized dose of the medicinal tea. Then, as Haldir began to drift back to sleep, he began applying warm compresses to his forehead and cheekbones, making sure they were not too hot but just at a comforting temperature. When they grew cool, Legolas removed them, dipped them in the heated water and reapplied them. Once Haldir slept, he only applied the compresses once more before dropping the cooled cloths back into the basin. There. He hoped Haldir would sleep more comfortably now. He gently kissed Haldir's brow, then the back of his hand, resting it gently down onto the pristine blanket pulled up to Haldir's chest.  
  
"Get well, my brave one, I miss you so," he whispered into the elegantly pointed ear of his life partner.  
  
Legolas seated himself in the chair once more, propped his feet on the wood frame of the cot where Haldir lay, and allowed himself to drift into a light reverie, needing the sleep himself.  
  
~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**  
  
  
Haldir literally stumbled over the Prince of Mirkwood the first time he met him. It wasn't really his fault, as he reminded his brothers when they teased him about it later and often, it was just one of those little jokes the gods like to play on those who value their dignity. And as the newly promoted captain of his patrol unit, he certainly did value that trait. Some would have said his dignity verged on arrogance, but they would have been the ones who failed to see the humor and warmth that often shone from his cobalt blue eyes.  
  
He was hurrying to the stables to check on a favorite mare who was having a difficult time birthing a late foal. His brother Rúmil had come gallumphing up the stairs to Haldir's flet, had then slammed the door open without knocking first and surprised a napping Haldir enough that he'd literally leaped up and started to run down to the stables without dressing first. That lack pointed out by an almost breathless Rúmil, Haldir had quickly yanked on leggings, shirt and boots before once more starting down the long curving path to the ground.  
  
Rúmil shouted something that he didn't quite catch. Haldir glanced back over his shoulder without halting his headlong pace and that was when it happened. He ran into something that uttered a surprised squeak, found himself tangled with long, elegant limbs, had his toes tromped on by the long elegant feet attached to those limbs, and turned to see who he had trodden on just as the other person grasped him by both upper arms in an attempt to halt his forward motion. They bumped heads - hard. Haldir saw stars, staggered and tried to shove the other person out of harm's way. He received an elbow in the belly for his efforts and suddenly found that he had to sit down. Which he did, precipitously. On a tree root. "Elbereth," he moaned, lifting slightly to rub the mal-treated area of his anatomy. A mallorn tree's roots are ancient, and harder than iron. Application of one's backside over the knotted root of a large mallorn does the tailbone no good at all, which Haldir had just proven to himself, although he certainly hadn't set out to prove that little fact.  
  
The other elf, even dizzier, plopped down in Haldir's lap, adding insult to injury. Breathless, he proceeded to lie flat and stare dizzily upwards into the dense mallorn branches, groaning and clutching his own stomach. "S-sorry," he panted after a long moment passed in silence.  
  
"No problem, I'm sure I don't mind being knocked on my ass over a tree root, there's no discomfort to it at all," Haldir finally managed, having gotten his own breath back. "You have sharp elbows," he added, rubbing his middle. Belly and backside, he thought, what could be next - a broken nose? "Don't sit up suddenly," he swiftly cautioned the elf who lay on him.  
  
"I won't, and it wasn't intentional," the younger elf apologized, and turned his head so he could look Haldir fully in the face. "I - uh - it wasn't - I - ," he stammered, eyes widening as he took in the slightly dishevelled person he'd tangled with. Valar, he certainly had tripped up a handsome specimen, Legolas thought in chagrin. "I'm Legolas," he introduced himself, and smiled.  
  
Haldir gaped, thinking this elf - the Prince of Mirkwood, no less - had the most beautiful, crystalline blue eyes he'd ever seen, set like two glowing jewels into a face of such beauty that it should probably cause most elleth to weep in jealousy. "Haldir," he finally thought to answer. Abruptly, he recalled why he'd been in such a hurry. "Sorry, I need to get up - my mare is having a difficult birth - need to get to the stables." He reluctantly aided the ethereal beauty to regain his feet, whereupon the younger elf extended a hand down to help him up. Once back on their feet, they stared at one another for a brief few seconds before Haldir once again shook himself mentally and recalled his need to be elsewhere.  
  
"I - erm - I'd like to talk to you more - do you want to come with me? I really need to check on Airamiir." Haldir was walking backwards in front of Legolas, who was already following him, interested in not only the tall silver-haired elf but in the horse as well. Haldir bumped into a groom, apologized and thought he'd best face forward, stop gaping at the vision of elven beauty behind him and watch where he was going.  
  
Legolas, amused at the other elf's obvious nervousness, and at his own sudden interest in matters equine, slightly hastened his steps so he was beside the other elf. "This should be safer," he commented. Haldir nodded, then, seeing a pair of elves rushing into the stables just ahead of them, sped up a bit more and was shortly leading Legolas into a stable full of the most beautiful horses Legolas had ever seen.  
  
"Valar," Legolas breathed, taking in one beautiful equine head after another, all the exquistely sculpted heads, large eyes and delicate muzzles sticking enquiringly out over their stall doors to see who was coming to see them. He stopped at each stall to examine the whole horse, stroke the velvet nose and satiny neck of each occupant of the luxurious stables. "I've never seen such horses," he said honestly, if a bit enviously. "Are they from Rohan?"  
  
"Some," came the answer from down the shed row where Haldir was inside a large box stall, kneeling in the wood shavings and hay beside a glorious copper colored mare with a mane of flaxen cream waves, the forelock falling over her eyes like silk. "This one is descended from those of the Mearas, with some other bloodlines mixed in - that's where her color comes from - her dam is from the Rohirrim royal stud."  
  
Legolas leaned over the door, not wanting to intrude by coming into the stall. He watched as Haldir ran careful, gentle hands over the mare's belly, checking the progress of her delivery while listening to a report from an elf who obviously was the head groom. Haldir and the groom - whose name Legolas found out was Camthalion Elensar - continued to examine the mare, finally deciding she was just slow in her labor, not that there was anything drastically wrong. Haldir rose to his feet, dusting shavings and chaff off his clothing. Turning, he suddenly seemed to remember the Mirkwood prince was there. "Oh," he exclaimed, looking somewhat befuddled. His cheekbones actually reddened, something Legolas found endearing.  
  
"Prince Legolas," Haldir introduced him to the head groom, "This is Camthalion, he's a genius when it comes to horses."  
  
Legolas nodded respectfully, "Mae govannen, Camthalion. You have many wonderful horses here, I envy you your work."  
  
The other elf smiled, "You're most welcome to come and relieve me of some of my work anytime, sir. But I do thank you for your kind words - I am blessed to have such horses to work with every day; it makes my work a real joy."  
  
Legolas smiled at the teasing, and nodded agreement with the rest. Touching the elf on the shoulder in a friendly manner, he then waved farewell, accompanying Haldir out the stable doors into the sunshine. "Truly marvelous horses," he commented.  
  
"Thank you," Haldir smiled broadly, genuinely pleased that the beautiful young prince appreciated good horseflesh. "Do you breed?"  
  
Legolas' cheekbones heated as the double meaning sank in. Stifling laughter, he couldn't look the Guardian in the face for a moment as he struggled to keep control of himself. Hearing an appalled intake of breath from beside him, he realized that Haldir had only just that instant realized that what he'd asked could be taken in more than one way. "No," Legolas answered truthfully to both meanings, then, unable to hold it in any longer, he bent over laughing. "N-not yet, anyway," he added. When he finally looked Haldir in the face, his laughter bubbled forth again as he saw the acute dismay in Haldir's expression.  
  
Haldir gaped at the Mirkwood prince at first, wondering why he was laughing before realizing the double meaning of what he'd asked him. Then, feeling red creep up his face, he wished he could bite his tongue and take back the silly question. It had only been filler conversation anyway because he was unaccountably nervous around the young beauty. "I, erm," he stammered, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him. "I, ahhhh, oh Valar take it! I didn't mean it that way!" He put his hands on his hips in aggravation.  
  
Legolas straightened up, putting a consoling hand around Haldir's wrist and giving him a commiserating squeeze. "No, no, it is I who took it wrong - I apologize for laughing at you."  
  
Haldir stared as Legolas got himself back under control, swiftly wiping mirth's tears off his cheeks while his laughter slowed to only the occasional chuckle and the redness of happy amusement left his fair skin. "I didn't intend it to be funny," Haldir said unnecessarily, setting Legolas off again - although only briefly this time. "Truly, I was just nervous," he finally admitted.  
  
Legolas blinked. Surely not? Surely he, practically still an elfling, barely into his majority, didn't make this experienced warrior, the much-vaunted Marchwarden of Lorien nervous? "Y-you were?" Legolas asked in amazement. "You needn't be nervous around me, Haldir, I'm just an ordinary person, nothing special here." He didn't add "thank the Valar", but he thought it. He really did enjoy just being ordinary here, not having to be gracious and royal and careful of every move he made as he usually did at home. "Please, accept my apologies for laughing, and please also do treat me like you would any other ordinary elf."  
  
Haldir snorted to himself. As if the young beauty could in any way be considered "ordinary"! But he inclined his head graciously, showing a little of the arrogance of manner he was famed for, then tried his question again, couching it a bit differently this time. "Do you breed horses Prince Legolas?"  
  
"Just call me Legolas, and yes, I have two fine mares given me by the Rohirrim, and I have bred both of them to one of my father's stallions whose lines trace back to those of the Mearas. Their foals are astonishing, although still very young."  
  
They began to walk then, meandering casually along side by side, up hill and down dale, deeper and deeper into the forests of Lorien. Talk changed from horses to other animals - fine dogs, pet birds, even the special goats that gave the very best wool used only for garments of such quality that only royalty or the very rich could afford them. "I have a sash of deep red c'ashmere," Haldir said, thinking that such a wealthy prince probably had entire wardrobes of clothing woven from that ultra-soft wool.  
  
Legolas decided not to mention his father's flocks of c'ashmere goats nor the number of cloaks, vests, jackets and scarves he had at home in his wardrobe chests. Why embarrass the tall Silvan elf unnecessarily? "I'm sure it is handsome indeed," was all Legolas replied. Inwardly, his mind was turning over the possibilities of gifting the handsome Marchwarden with something woven from the wool of his own home flocks, and doing it without embarrassing the proud elf. So, as they walked along, now discussing the sickness that was beginning to blight the mallorn trees of Legolas' home forests, he was not only thinking of trees, botany and blights but also of goats, fine wool and garments woven of cobalt blue that would enhance the deep azure gaze of the silver-haired warrior's eyes.  
  
They came to a small brook and followed its course until it widened into an almost circular pond. "Oh, this is lovely!" Legolas exclaimed, seating himself on a big, smooth boulder overlooking the water.  
  
Remembering that he had once upon a time fallen off that very boulder and landed at the feet of the famed - still to him "infamous" - Balrog Slayer, Haldir frowned slightly. Then he performed a mental shrug and shut that memory firmly into the past where it belonged. "Yes, we love it here as well."  
  
When Legolas lifted a questioning eyebrow, Haldir explained, "My brothers, Rúmil and Orophin and I like to come here to swim and relax."  
  
"Ahh," Legolas nodded in understanding. "It must have been a wondrous place for three elflings to explore."  
  
"It was," Haldir agreed, "And as you can imagine, we found endless ways to get ourselves in peril - although nothing serious while we were yet elflings."  
  
"I'm sure," Legolas responded, amused at the hint of mischief in Haldir's expression. The Guardian was truly a stunning elf, Legolas thought. Although his features were not pristine and perfect as were those of some elves he had met, Haldir's countenance held the eye because of the force of the personality behind the pleasing combination of nose, mouth, jaw and eyes. He had most compelling and beautiful eyes, Legolas mused to himself. He jolted from his pondering of what it was that made Haldir of Lorien so pleasant to look upon, realizing he had been asked a question and truthfully had no idea what it was. "Erm, I don't really know for sure," he answered innocuously.  
  
Haldir stopped, peering at him, head tipped to one side, "You don't? That is most strange, Prince Legolas."  
  
Valar! Legolas fumed inwardly, then, mentally shrugging, he decided to come clean, "I am sorry, Marchwarden, I have to confess my mind was wandering. What was it you asked me again?"  
  
Haldir smiled - eye gleaming with amusement - repeating his question, "I asked if you had siblings with whom you played elfling games there in Mirkwood."  
  
Legolas burst out laughing, "No wonder you gave me a look! No, unfortunately, I am an only child - but I have many cousins and second cousins, so I was never lonely. There was always a group of us running through the palace corridors, driving our minders mad."  
  
Haldir pictured Legolas as a young elfling, imagining an equally beautiful youngster dashing down a marble hallway with his golden hair fluttering like a banner behind him. It was an enchanting image. He smiled at the prince, feeling a bit less nervous now that they had walked and talked of normal things for close to an hour. "I can't imagine not having my brothers near me - I practically raised them."  
  
"Did your parents sail without you?" Legolas couldn't fathom that - what parent, nana or ada, could leave three such sons behind? He noticed that Haldir's expression froze slightly and reached out to touch his arm gently, "I beg pardon, forget I asked something so personal. I sometimes forget everyone doesn't just blurt out their whole life story on the drop of a hat like I have been known to do."  
  
Haldir smiled again, "I doubt very much that you do that, Prince." Seeing Legolas pout slightly, he amended that to, "Legolas - now it is my turn to beg your pardon."  
  
"Then we are even." Legolas noticed that the afternoon was darkening into dusk, as did Haldir, who suggested they begin their return to Caras Galadhon before it grew too dark. "There is no danger from Orcs here, is there?" Legolas wanted to know.  
  
Haldir shook his head, "Not this close to the center of the woods, no, but still - it pays to err on the side of caution."  
  
"I'm sure," Legolas agreed.  
  
They walked side by side through the deepening dusk, under the shimmering leaves of the mallorns. As they reached the city gates, the evening songs of the elves beautified the air. Everywhere Legolas saw happy faces and heard bits and snatches of friendly conversations. It was quite lovely. He could not help smiling as they walked up the stairs to where he was being hosted in one of the guest talans. They reached his door and Haldir bowed to him, "I wish you a pleasant dinner and a good sleep after, Legolas."  
  
Legolas caught Haldir's wrist, driven by an urge he hadn't expected, and said softly, "No need to bow to me here, let us be informal. Haldir, I thank you for a very pleasant day. Perhaps I can persuade you to join me at dinner - or, forgive me, perhaps you have duties that call for you to be up and gone with one of your dawn patrols?"  
  
Haldir usually did not like being touched unless it was something he initiated, but strangely, the prince's easy grip of his wrist was most pleasant. His blood thrummed happily from where Legolas' fingers wrapped around his forearm, zinged up toward his chest and then to his heart, which suddenly skipped a beat, surprising Haldir. He steadied himself with his other hand on the stair rail.  
  
"Are you well?" Legolas wanted to know, concern knitting his fair brows.  
  
"No - I - Elbereth! I know not what that was - but I am fine now, no need to worry," Haldir reassured the younger elf. "I may indeed see you at dinner, Legolas. Until then, have a pleasant evening." He bowed, caught himself halfway, grinned at Legolas and walked away down the stairs, wondering at his own clumsiness. And what was that with his heart skipping a beat? That had never happened before. "I must be getting old faster than I thought," he chided himself, then laughed at that thought since he was still much younger than many of the members of his patrol, and younger than a lot of his friends as well.  
  
"Ah well," he told himself as he reached the door of his own talan, "perhaps it was just too much fresh air."  
  
TBC  
  
  
  
  
Translations:  
  
Tanacetum = Ergot, used in many migraine remedies  
Camthalion Elensar = Horse Magician  
Airamiir - literally "copper colored jewel" from aira = copper colored and miir = jewel  
Lirimaer - "Lovely one"  
Melethron - Sindarin for "Lover" or "Darling"  
Meleth - Love (Sindarin)  
Meldir - Friend (Sindarin)  
Seron - Brother (Sometimes used to mean good friend)(Sindarin)  
Saes - Please


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haldir wakes after Helm's Deep suffering terrible injuries. As he slowly recovers, he recalls years before and the adventures (and misadventures) of his younger days.

Legolas was detained in a meeting of war leaders - human and elf alike - discussing plans for further strikes against Sauron now that the battle of Helm's Deep was won. He had planned on the session only lasting, at worst, four or five hours, but ended up being needed there the entire day and into the evening. Because of the demands on his time, he was unable to spend his usual amount of time with Haldir, and it nagged at him the whole day. He drummed his fingers on the table, impatient with the seemingly endless arguments taking place as plans were finalized. Finally, unable to sit through yet another shouting match as various generals and commanders from every corner of Middle Earth tried to assure themselves of the best positioning, arms, horses, food and provisions - something that of course couldn't be guaranteed to everyone who was after the same thing - Legolas shoved his chair back and rose. "I have had enough," he spoke in a soft voice that nevertheless captured almost everyone's attention. "You know my feelings, the needs of my warriors, and my intent to coordinate with the wishes of my lord Aragorn. Other needs call me away from here now."  
  
"But, your Highness!" one of King Thranduil's generals raised his voice in protest, "We cannot be subordinate to - to - " he waved his arms in the air, unwilling to openly state that he was outraged at having to answer to a human rather than be the head of the entire operation being planned.  
  
"You will be subordinate to whomever Lord Aragorn says you will, and I will hear no further nonsense from you," Legolas cut in, voice like steel. The Mirkwood general's mouth closed with an audible snap and he flushed dark red under the cold gaze of the son of Thranduil. When Legolas saw that there would be no further such outbursts - at least from his officers - he nodded once to Aragorn, strode across the chamber and out the heavy oaken door.  
  
Fresh air hit him in the face with a welcome blast of cold air and he breathed in deeply, emptying his lungs of the stale atmosphere of the meeting room. "It is much more pleasant out here, isn't it?" Aragorn's amused voice broke into Legolas' thoughts. He turned to exchange rueful grins with the Heir of Isildur. "Go to him," Aragorn urged him, knowing Legolas had been champing at the bit most of that long day to get to Haldir's side. "There is nothing further your presence can help with, friend, and I think he needs you very much now."  
  
Legolas paled. Was Aragorn sensing something amiss? Before he could ask, however, Aragorn put a reassuring hand on Legolas' shoulder, "Nay, friend, I simply meant that Haldir seems to improve each hour you spend at his side - nothing more. Go now and carry my good wishes to him." He sighed, adding, "I'm afraid I will have to go back in there and not be free myself for some hours yet."  
  
When Legolas made to go back to the meeting with him, however, Aragorn would have none of it and shooed him off toward the healers' quarters where Haldir was recovering from his injuries. "Go on, don't be a martyr. And be sure to get enough rest yourself, I have need of your sharp brain, Legolas, and you do nobody any good if you're exhausted and anxious."  
  
Legolas nodded reluctantly, although truly, he would rather have slept on a bed of nails than go back into that meeting. "I will, I promise, Estel. Good night." He clasped hands briefly with his long-time friend before striding off in the direction he'd wanted to go all that long day. Arriving, he smiled to see Rumil sitting with Haldir, reading to him from what seemed to be an ancient book of romantic tales of the sort young elleths normally passed their time with while preening for some tryst or other. "Eluviel and Astalder?" he inquired, mouth quirking in amusement.  
  
Rumil slapped the book closed and flung it down, "The best I could do - there isn't much of a lending library here, although I'm told there are more books in the old fortress manor house library."  
  
"I've heard that - I can seek out some more interesting books, if you like - or get Estel to find them." Legolas took Rumil's place in the comfortable chair beside Haldir's bed.  
  
"Anything is better than Eluviel and Astalder," Haldir said, sounding grumpy.  
  
Legolas saw Rumil roll his eyes and understood that the Guardian had not been a particularly friendly patient that day. "I will stay the night - I know you have other things you'd rather do for awhile," Legolas urged Haldir's brother to leave. Rumil didn't wait to be urged again; he was out the door like a shot, only his softly voiced "good night" left in his wake.  
  
"Well, he didn't waste any time, did he?" Legolas teased Haldir, who was, now that he studied him, looking decidedly displeased about something. He was sure he would find out what soon enough, however, so he didn't try to pry the reason out of his lover. He found an untouched tray containing a plate of roast lamb, fresh crusty bread and a flask of hot tea. "Is this yours? Why did you not eat?" he asked Haldir.  
  
Haldir gestured that he wanted nothing, "Food only makes me sick to my stomach," he finally admitted under Legolas' stubborn gaze. When Legolas sat on the side of the bed, Haldir moved his legs to give him more room. "Don't set that tray there," he warned Legolas, "just the odor of it nauseates - ai, Elbereth!" Haldir leaned over the far side of the bed and was sick.  
  
Startled, Legolas leaped to his feet and fetched a cloth. Holding the white-blonde locks out of the way as he blotted the sweat off Haldir's bone-pale face, Legolas noted the dark marks of discomfort and fatigue staining the otherwise pristine skin under Haldir's eyes. Crouching beside him, Legolas put a comforting arm across Haldir's shoulders, careful of his still-healing back. "Better now, dear one?" he asked softly. At Haldir's cautious nod, Legolas eased him back onto the pillows, wiping his face again before going to the door briefly to get someone to help cleanse the room.  
  
To his surprise, Nestarion himself came with the orderly and together, the three of them had the area freshened in short order. After washing his hands in a basin, Nestarion stood studying his patient, who, after a short glance at him, closed his eyes as if that would make him go away. "No poking or prodding," Haldir said in a low but firm tone.  
  
"I never poke or prod," Nestarion answered him in the same tone, "but I have eyes, Guardian, and they tell me you are suffering."  
  
Haldir snorted, turned on his right side and stubbornly refused to look at the healer. As a gesture, it might have been more impressive if he hadn't winced when his back protested the movement, but it did convey his disdain of medical practitioners fairly well.  
  
"Are you impressed by that?" Legolas inquired, amused by his lover's blatant attempt to intimidate Nestarion with a bit of his infamous haughtiness.  
  
"Not in the slightest," Nestarion replied. "Now, Haldir, no more nonsense - tell me how long you've been unable to tolerate food."  
  
Haldir muttered something unintelligible, but Nestarion simply leaned closer, fixing the annoyed Guardian with a stern look that finally brought the necessary information forth. "Two days - but really - longer than that." Haldir glanced briefly at Legolas, then turned his eyes back to the Healer, wincing and shading his eyes with a cupped right hand. "When the headache begins, so does the nausea."  
  
Nestarion grunted, straightening. "It is as I thought," he said in his soft but no-nonsense voice. "And when the headache ceases, does your appetite return?"  
  
His hand still partially covering his eyes, Haldir admitted that it didn't. "But the headache never really stops, so I can't tell," he explained, wincing and flattening his hand so his palm pressed against his right eye and brow. "I need. . ." he didn't have to finish his request, Nestarion gestured for Legolas to pour some wine in a cup, into which the Healer tipped a powder from a small folded paper packet.  
  
"Drink this - all of it - and lie flat," Nestarion ordered.  
  
To Legolas' surprise, Haldir complied, sliding down in the bed - careful of his left arm and back - until his head was on the soft pillows. "Sleepy," he mumbled, and was suddenly out, gone into a deep sleep.  
  
"What was in that powder?" Legolas wanted to know. He'd never seen anything work so quickly before.  
  
"Asalil and some herbs Lord Elrond gave me that increase the desire to sleep - it would certainly help Haldir to sleep longer and more deeply and not fight the battle over and over in his dreams."  
  
"Has he been doing that?" Legolas had slept in his own quarters the past several nights and was unaware of it. His lips curved downward ruefully, "I should have been here," he said bitterly. Leaning down, he brushed a kiss across Haldir's mouth. "I'll be here for you tonight, Meleth," he promised. He glanced up to find Nestarion's somewhat pitying gaze on him. "What?"  
  
The healer shook his head, changing his expression to one of professional detachment. "Nothing - I was just thinking there will be many such nights for you both until he is better."  
  
Legolas didn't notice that Nestarion said "better" and not "healed". He returned to his quarters long enough to bathe and change before settling in for the night with Haldir. One of the orderlies had seen to his comfort and had a well cushioned cot made up so Legolas could rest near Haldir's bedside. He shoved it closer still, and, as he had thought, as soon as the lamps were blown out for the night, their hands found one another across the small open space and they rested, fingers locked together. If Haldir dreamed about Helms Deep that night, he showed no outward signs of it, for their hands were still clasped one in the other come morning light.  
  
  
  
*****************************  
  
When they had first become acquainted, Haldir thought the Mirkwood prince beautiful, if a bit young and flighty. Not at all, he reasoned, someone to have a long-term relationship with. A short, passionate fling, maybe, but nothing more than that. Of course, considering Prince Legolas' position in Elven society, for him to even aspire to that short fling was presumptuous of him. After all, the Prince of Mirkwood, even as the second son of King Thranduil, could choose from among any one of dozens of high-ranking, beautiful ellon and elleth with which to have romantic relationships. Or even just sexual ones, presumably. For Haldir of Lorien to even think that Legolas would look upon him as a partner - even for a one-night fling - was almost laughable.  
  
Therefore, it was with some surprise that Haldir eventually realized that the reason the beautiful princeling was so often to be found in his wake practicing with his bow in the early mornings when Haldir often practiced, or at a small social gathering where he might not have been expected to attend, or wanting to go on patrol with Haldir's unit, was less because of an interest in guard duty, archery, horses or good wine than it was because of the Prince's interest in Haldir himself.  
  
His first realization of the state of affairs came when Orophin and Rumil, who both - annoyingly - seemed to have some deeper knowledge of Prince Legolas' mindset, informed him of it at the noonday meal about two weeks into the Prince's visit to Lothlorien. "But surely you noticed your decorative hanger-on!" Orophin teased his brother.  
  
Haldir, barely able to keep from choking on his wine at this revelation, shook his head in disbelief, "You're jesting - he has no interest in me other than possibly as a friend." He got the wine down safely and turned to his meat, chewing the tender lamb thoughtfully. "Besides, his Adar would kill him."  
  
Rumil snorted, "Why do you say that? King Thranduil has had his share of commoners in his bed - it's a well-known fact."  
  
Haldir fixed him with one of his most arrogant glances, "Oh, and you know this how?"  
  
Refusing to be cowed, Rumil merely shrugged in his maddeningly cheerful way and answered, "I just know - never mind how." When Orophin started to interject some bit of knowledge, Rumil unceremoniously kicked him under the table. Quelling Orophin's un-uttered protest, Rumil merely fixed him with as close a copy of Haldir's arrogant expression as he could manage.  
  
Haldir, watching the interchange between his siblings, merely noted it as another kind of the teasing horseplay the two often got up to and not as anything factual. "You both need a month on the northern border to knock some sense back into your heads."  
  
Both of his siblings quickly made themselves scarce lest their elder brother make good on his threat. They were not in his patrol, but Haldir certainly had enough influence with their captains to get them assigned to such unpleasant duty away from Caras Galadhon. Lips curving in a smile as he watched them beat their hasty retreat, Haldir didn't realize at first that the pleasantly modulated voice speaking near him was Prince Legolas. And he was addressing Haldir. Haldir drew his attention away from his brothers and turned to face Legolas. "Sir? I apologize, I didn't realize it was you."  
  
Legolas grinned, "No need to apologize, I'm nobody special." Before Haldir could protest otherwise, Legolas lifted a warding hand and put an end to any apology Haldir might have been going to make. "Please, don't dwell on any formality around me - I much prefer being ordinary."  
  
"But - you're not ordinary," Haldir protested, filling his eyes with the sleek lines of the Mirkwood prince's face. He was so beautiful. . . "What?" He'd done it again, he thought in chagrin, been so busy staring at the other elf he'd missed what he had to say. He wanted to grind his teeth in frustration with himself and only just managed to keep from doing it by telling himself it would only make him look more gauche.  
  
"I asked if I could go on patrol with you when you go out tomorrow - I've cleared it with your commander - it only remains for you to grant your permission."  
  
Haldir stared for a moment, realizing that maybe his brothers weren't so far off the mark in their teasing of him earlier. Why else, he pondered, would Prince Legolas want to accompany him on his patrol except because of some kind of interest other than mere hero worship? Besides, he was no special hero - he'd never done anything that noteworthy or remarkable. Well, unless one counted the rescue of two wounded elves when his patrol had been severely diminished during an Orc attack the year before. Despite a wound in his side, Haldir had dragged both his fellows out of harm's way and then gone back to fetch a third wounded member of his patrol, sparing him from being horribly killed by the last of the attacking Orcs. He'd gotten a second wound himself then, a slice down his right thigh that bled enough to cause him to be abed for two weeks getting his strength back afterward. But still, that was only his duty and his responsibility as the leader of his patrol unit, to bring everyone back whenever possible. He was no hero, he thought. He was just - well - Haldir.  
  
"I'm nobody special, you know," Haldir suddenly informed Legolas. He could have immediately wished the words back but by then it was too late. "Clumsy oaf," he told himself.  
  
Legolas merely shook his head, smiling, "You're wrong, you know, you're very special, Haldir of Lorien."  
  
Haldir flushed, then, disgusted with himself for the blush, felt his face heat further. He turned away from the prince, embarrassed beyond belief, but instead of the laughter he thought would come from the fair Mirkwood elf, a gentle hand alighted on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, I did not mean to cause you upset," he said in a low voice.  
  
Haldir glanced over his shoulder in surprise, "Upset? Nay, I'm not upset so much as - well - I have no control over my reaction to you, it seems."  
  
Legolas found the blush on the beautiful face of the Galadhel to be entrancing. It made his cobalt blue eyes glow all the darker against the fringe of black lashes framing them. He suddenly realized they were facing one another and he hadn't yet removed his hand from Haldir's shoulder. Nor did he want to remove it. In fact, his hand slid lightly downward until his fingertips came to rest over Haldir's left collarbone, under the opening of his gray wool tunic, where the heat of Haldir's body could be felt more clearly through the linen of his shirt.  
  
"Nor do I, Haldir of Lorien, when it comes to you," Legolas said softly. And his fingers trembled where they rested above Haldir's heart.  
  
  
  
TBC


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haldir wakes after Helm's Deep suffering terrible injuries. As he slowly recovers, he recalls years before and the adventures (and misadventures) of his younger days.

The elves of Lothlorien were journeying home from Helm's Deep. Legolas would go with the Fellowship to finish their lengthy, dangerous quest. Haldir was worried about Legolas which only exacerbated the lingering effects of his wounds received in the battle. Of course, Haldir being Haldir, there was another, much smaller though no less fierce battle fought before Legolas left or the Lothlorien party began their trip home. . .  
  
"I wish to ride my horse and not sit in a cart like baggage!" he had answered Nestarion when the healer had informed him of the plans for his comfort on the trip back home to the Golden Wood. "I will not ride like some, some - delicate female!"  
  
Nestarion folded his arms across his chest, studying the indignant elf in front of him. "You can barely stand there well enough to tell me this, Guardian, how do you think you would fare on the back of a horse for days on end?"  
  
Haldir, who was propped - surreptitiously, he had thought - using a chair as support for his wobbling legs, gave the healer his best quelling look. "I am not 'barely standing' here, Nestarion!" The chair's legs squealed across the rough wooden floor of the tent as Haldir rested more and more weight against it. He stiffened his knees, continuing to fix his parade-ground glare at the healer.  
  
Nestarion was not impressed. He flicked the chair with his toe, nearly sending Haldir plunging to the floor, only his quick grasp of Haldir's right arm keeping the outraged Guardian on his feet and not on his backside. "Yes, you are - and a more stubborn person I've never met, Haldir of Lorien."  
  
"I could have told you that much," Legolas advanced into the room, the tent flap swinging shut behind him. Haldir, having glanced at him, was momentarily blinded by the light from outside and lurched in Nestarion's grip. The healer tightened his hold and Legolas moved to assist, between them managing to jostle Haldir's still healing left arm and back. At Haldir's indrawn hiss of pain, Legolas winced but didn't let go of him. "Behave," he urged his angry partner, "we're not trying to humiliate you, we're trying to make your journey comfortable, o stubborn one."  
  
Haldir continued to look mutinous, so Legolas gave up for the moment, sighing in fatigue. It was burden enough to face the unknown perils that awaited him and the rest of the Fellowship. With Haldir slowly improving but still suffering much discomfort - including that which he felt he needed to keep secret from his husband (although Legolas was very much aware of it anyway) - Legolas knew he'd have the added burden of worrying about Haldir until he was finished with the Quest and back home once again at Haldir's side. He gave Haldir's good shoulder a light squeeze and a pat once Haldir was seated and fairly relaxed. He did not praise him as he would a small elfling, although privately he sometimes felt Haldir was acting like one. Putting himself in Haldir's place, Legolas wondered if he would do as well were he the one recuperating from severe wounds like Haldir.  
  
"You are going tomorrow," Haldir stated softly when Nestarion had left the tent.  
  
Legolas, trying to look busy doing anything except the final packing he was actually engaged in, winced at the pained tone in Haldir's voice. Facing him, he nodded, "Yes, meleth. I've waited as long as I can, now - well - I must go. The Fellowship has need of me. . ."  
  
Haldir waved a hand, "You do not need to sell me the idea, hiren, I understand full well. It is only," here he sighed deeply, "only that I would be with you, fight at your side, and not be so weak and helpless."  
  
Legolas crouched on the floor in front of Haldir's chair, taking Haldir's long-fingered right hand in his, thumbs lightly brushing the knuckles. Earnestly, he looked into the cobalt blue eyes fixed on him, "You will be there, my valiant one, never doubt it! Your thoughts will be turned to me, and mine to you. Who knows, we might even be able to farspeak one another despite the miles between us."  
  
Haldir sighed again, but nodded agreement, "Yes, we might, though we have never achieved it over so long a distance." He thought for a moment, "But, meleth, I want your mind fully on what you're doing, not worrying about me - it is when one is distracted that it becomes dangerous to go into battle. You cannot fight well with your thoughts divided." He squeezed Legolas' hand in response to the caresses he was receiving, "Promise me, then, bright one, that you will think of me only when you can do it safely, and that you will not endanger yourself or anyone else by not fully concentrating on what you are doing."  
  
Legolas' lips curved into a mischievous smile, "And if I don't promise?" He couldn't resist teasing Haldir; he loved the brief flash of exasperation that moved across Haldir's face before he realized he was being twitted. Again.  
  
"Elfling!" Haldir chided him, but leant down to press his mouth to the eager lips of his life partner. "I don't know why I keep you around," he added a few moments later when they separated.  
  
"Because you like suffering?" Legolas suggested, rising to his feet, stretching the kinks out of his back and thighs. "Gods, I am weary!" he commented.  
  
"Sit," Haldir answered, patting the covers beside him, "Come, you have time to rest awhile, you're not leaving until morning."  
  
Legolas' mobile lips curved into a sweet smile, one that had just an edge of sensual promise to it. He slid onto the bed beside Haldir and began kissing him, inexorably bearing him down so Haldir was lying flat on his back before he even realized it. "Legolas," he hissed, trying to see past him to the doorflap of the tent, "anyone could come. . .mmmmf!"  
  
"That's my intention - someone is definitely going to come," Legolas whispered back, his hands sliding down Haldir's body conveying exactly what he meant. Knowing he was dealing with a partner recuperating from life-threatening wounds, however, Legolas took Haldir with extreme care and tenderness, using lips, tongue, fingertips to stroke, caress and lick his way down Haldir's body. Provoking barely-stifled groans, Legolas strove to give Haldir pleasure using all his skill. Succeeding in his quest, Legolas blew a well-aimed breath across the weeping head of Haldir's sex, followed almost immediately by Legolas' mouth enveloping Haldir's entire throbbing length.  
  
Haldir's back arched as he moaned in ecstasy, grasping Legolas' arm with his right hand. "Elbereth!" came the gasping moan as Legolas worked him with swirling strokes of his tongue. And when Legolas let the dusky rose swollen head pop from between his exquisitely cut lips, Haldir moaned louder, voice gone but little upward thrusts of his hips conveying what he wanted plainer than any words might have. Chuckling, Legolas blew another hot breath across the pulsing glans, causing Haldir to thrust up, demanding deeper contact. "Saes, Legolas, saes!"  
  
Instead, Legolas kissed all around the cock in his hand, licking and leaving little bites on inner thighs, the bottom curve of Haldir's ass, even on each side of his heavy scrotum. The pleading turned into incoherent cries of need. Taking pity on his lover, Legolas took the thick shaft back into his mouth and using mouth, throat muscles and his hands, brought Haldir to a raucous, quivering, ecstatic conclusion. Licking the spent shaft clean, Legolas tucked it neatly back into Haldir's leggings before tying his laces, giving the soft bulge there a fond pat.  
  
Haldir opened his eyes languidly, "Melethron, you'll be the death of me yet." His voice was soft with post-coital fatigue, his mithril colored hair mussed adorably so that strands stuck to his cheek and throat.  
  
Legolas brushed the hair back, kissing Haldir's beautiful, pouting mouth so Haldir tasted himself on Legolas lips and tongue. "You're shameless," Haldir whispered, fighting the lassitude that threatened to send him into sleep.  
  
A soft laugh, then Legolas put his mouth right by one of Haldir's elegantly pointed ears, whispering a sleep spell - unfairly, perhaps, since Haldir had wanted to savor every moment before Legolas departed. Legolas stroked Haldir's damp hair, then pressed kisses to his forehead until he was totally relaxed. "Sleep now, lirimaer - I will lie beside you and watch over you until morning." Legolas blew out the oil lamp beside the bed and slid under the covers beside Haldir's softly breathing form, one hand resting flat on Haldir's midsection, heads close together on the pillows so that their hair mingled - sunshine and moonlight - silk and satin - prince and soldier. He dozed that way until it began to get light outside. Then, not waking the still slumbering Haldir, Legolas dressed, shoved the last of his belongings into his pack, and kissed Haldir's mouth one last time before exiting the tent.  
  
He knew he should have awakened him, but - uncharacteristically - he found he hadn't wanted to face what he knew would be an emotional goodbye - possibly their last. Simpler to just leave the note he had written after he rose from their bed that morning. Haldir would be furious, he knew, but Legolas felt that neither of them was up to a draining, overly-emotional goodbye, and so he took the craven's route for once and left his partner sleeping, all unawares, in their tent.  
================================================  
  
It was a miserable journey back to Lorien for Haldir, his brothers, Lord Celeborn, Nestarion and anyone else who dealt with the injured Guardian. Not only did he insist on trying to ride a horse at one point - promptly falling off when the pain in his back made itself known with appalling sharpness - but he refused to admit to the healer that he was having severe difficulties with both the pain in his head and the problems with his vision that seemed to be getting worse instead of better. By the time Caras Galadhon was sighted from the topmost rise before entering the woodland city, everyone was worn out, exasperated, irritated, short-tempered and at the same time filled with sadness for the formerly - seemingly - invincible Guardian of Lorien.  
  
Which didn't prevent even his brothers from arguing with him, over him, about him on an almost hourly basis. Eventually, even the highly patient Lord Celeborn sent Rumil and Orophin on ahead of the main group of travelers so that they could settle their disagreements in relative privacy without inflicting their tempers on everyone else. It was a solution greeted with profound relief by all who had been putting up with the Lorien brothers' short tempers the entire journey. Some were even losing sympathy for Haldir, although that was only a few who had not known him well before Helm's Deep changed his life.  
  
When the lookouts on the topmost guard tower blew a welcoming fanfare on their trumpets, everyone felt relief that the journey was finally at an end. Everyone except Haldir, who knew that for Legolas and the Fellowship, the journey was commenced once again and many dangers stood in their path.  
  
"Elbereth guard him," he whispered, gazing up into the familiar night sky overhead. A soft breeze ruffled his hair - was that a response to his plea? He hoped so. "Come safely back to me, Legolas," Haldir added, turning to make his way back inside his well-beloved talan high in one of the mighty mallorn trees of Caras Galadhon. He lay down in his own bed, knowing he should feel safe and comfortable - as much as possible given his still healing injuries, anyway. But a sense of unrest, of a dread so deep it seemed to come from somewhere close by, although Haldir knew he was only sensing the general worries of everyone about the Quest and the members of the Fellowship as they sought to end Sauron's power once and for all. "Legolas. . ." Haldir breathed, falling into reverie almost before the last syllable left his lips.  
  
In the highest talan of Caras Galadhon, Lady Galadriel heard his words, and added her own pleas to them, entreating the Valar to keep not only Legolas, but all the Fellowship safe. "And aid my Guardian in his recovery," she added, "for Lorien needs him - we all need him - and those of us who love him would have him well again."  
  
Celeborn put his hand over hers where they rested in her lap now that her prayers were done. Glancing up, she smiled into his blue eyes, "You ask it as well?"  
  
He nodded, "I do," then he lifted her to her feet and walked with her into their bedchamber. "And now, rest - for you at least, dear one." When she gave him a questioning look, he grimaced slightly, "I am afraid I worry as much or more than you. It makes me restless."  
  
Galadriel cupped one of his cheeks in her palm, smiling up at him, "Then, let me offer you solace, that it takes your mind from worry - even for just a little while."  
  
He smiled in response, pulled her closer to his body, and kissed the top of her head, although she was just a few inches shorter than he, she was barefoot and not at eye level with him for once. "I believe you're flirting with me, my lady," he teased.  
  
Galadriel uttered an unladylike snort, "I know I am!" She caught hold of his hand and led him to their bed a bit more quickly. "Now I will prove it to you."  
  
  
  
  
  
TBC


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haldir wakes after Helm's Deep suffering terrible injuries. As he slowly recovers, he recalls years before and the adventures (and misadventures) of his younger days.

Legolas chafed, cooling his heels in Aragorn's palace in Minas Tirith while awaiting the coronation of the King, Sauron and his Army having been defeated and the One Ring destroyed. He wanted to be there for Estel, his longtime companion and friend, but he also wanted to be in Caras Galadhon with his spouse, Haldir. He sat now in the early dawn glow, trying to write to Haldir but finding it difficult not to whine about being two places at once. He wanted, after all, to send a message that would convey both his jubilation at being part of the Fellowship that brought about the end of such evil that it cast a pall over all of Middle Earth and his hope for the future without sounding as though he was leaving Haldir behind. Far from it. He actually could not wait to be with Haldir once more. Legolas squinted over they balcony rail, deep in thought.  
  
After a moment or two, he wrote: "It's dawn here and I'm picturing the many dawns we woke together in our talan, listening to the birds singing in the branches around us, making love as the light spread slowly across our bed." He felt such a twinge of longing reading what he'd written that he almost got to his feet to throw his belongings into a bag and leave right that minute. "Pah," he blew air between his lips in exasperation. After all, he didn't want to depress Haldir further by tantalizing him with memories of their lovemaking when he was so many leagues away. He prepared to blot his words out, thought again, and left them, adding, "As soon as I possibly can I am coming home to you, Melethron. You will know I am almost there - somehow I will send my thoughts to you, as I try to do now but am defeated by the distance between us. I pray daily you are well and healed from your wounds."

Frustrated by not being able to go home right then, Legolas sighed, rolled up the parchment and sealed it with green wax and the leaf-shaped crest of his marriage ring. That done, he dressed for the day, passed the missive to the captain of a small group of the Galadhrim who were leaving that day for home, and went to seek out something to do. Spying a familiar small and grizzled form, he nearly pounced on Gimli, who was just as bored as he. "Let us go fishing or something," Gimli suggested. And after breaking their fast, they gathered equipment and did exactly that, shortly joined by Estel himself, who fretted nearly as much as they while waiting for events to unfold. Nobody caught many fish, but they did find themselves less restless after doing battle with some very elusive trout.

Riding back to Minas Tirith after their fishing expedition, Aragorn studied Legolas whenever the Elf was looking elsewhere. He was right, he thought, Legolas was looking unhappy and it didn't take a scholar to discover why. "You should go to him," Estel suggested as they dismounted. Grooms led the horses away, others taking their fishing equipment - and the fish - to be taken care of. The fish would no doubt be served that night on some table or other in the palace.

Legolas turned from gazing after the little group of horses, fixing Estel with an amused eye. "I really want to - but I don't want to leave too early and be thought lacking in diplomacy."

Aragorn laughed, clapping Legolas on the shoulder as they mounted the stone steps. "This party is liable to go on indefinitely - and the endless jockeying for the best lands and positions. I'd say you could safely leave and return in, say,a year, and everything would be in about the same state as it is now."  
  
Legolas nodded, chuckling. Finally, when they stood indoors in the hall where corridors led off to different wings of the palace, Legolas admitted he wanted to go. "I miss him, Estel. You know he wasn't at all recovered when we had to part, and his letters are - well - unhappy. I fear his healing has not proceded as it should. He needs me. Have I your leave to go?"  
  
Aragorn nodded, "Of course, you didn't even need to explain, Legolas. Go to Lothlorien - go to Haldir - give him my best wishes for a full recovery. Then, one day, come back to visit us here."

Smiling, Legolas agreed. "I will leave at dawn. Thank you, Estel."  
  
"Go," was all Aragorn answered, then they embraced warmly before turning away, each going to his own rooms down separate corridors. Their footfalls echoed in the white marble hallways, receding in the distance as they got farther and farther away from each other. "Go safely," Aragorn whispered as he turned for one last glance at the distant figure of the Mirkwood Prince. "Go safely, my friend."  


 

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_Without you I stand in shadows, the light of day all but blinding to me as I grope to find my way out of the maze that once was my home. The forest is strange to me. I cannot find the simplest paths that once I trod without even having to look where I set my feet, it was so familiar. Now, I stumble and totter like an ancient Man lost in his own lands and unable to escape his fate of short life and ill health..._

Haldir threw down his pen in disgust with himself.

Hearing his brother crumple yet another half-written missive, Rumil rose from where he'd been fletching new arrows the past hour and went to set bracing hands on Haldir's shoulders. "Come, brother, let us go outdoors and find something to occupy ourselves besides feathers and frustration."  
  
Flinching slightly when his left shoulder - still healing and tender - protested Rumil's touch, nevertheless Haldir cast a half-smile up at his younger brother. "Archery practice, perhaps?" he asked wryly.

Rumil scowled at him, "I don't think that would be a good idea."

Haldir had defied the healers who advised him to wait many more weeks for his shoulder and arm to heal before attempting to draw a bow - even a child's bow, much less the large bow he normally used, tall as himself. Instead, being his usual arrogantly stubborn self, he had made his way to the archery field when it was deserted. He had taken his own bow and some of Legolas' beautifully made arrows and nocked one to the bowstring. His attempt to draw the bow more than an inch or two was disastrous. The pain in his back, shoulder and arm knifed through him and he dropped the bow on the ground, shortly following it down to crouch, hunched in agony, panting as his entire body protested what he had just tried to do. He was barely aware anyone was near, but found himself lifted to his feet and supported by his two brothers, who got him back to the main houses of healing - climbing to his talan being momentarily beyond his capability. Once there, they had all but sat on him to keep him down long enough to recoup his strength enough to go to his own dwelling. Haldir had, of course, not heard the end of that little fiasco yet.

He grimaced now, flexing his left elbow just a bit. "I doubt I will ever draw my bow again, Rumil."

"You sound like a spoiled elleth, brother," Rumil chided him, staring him down when Haldir shot him a heated look. Rumil's left brow rose in perfect imitation of Haldir when he exerted his will over his younger brothers. He had practiced that particular maneuver and had it down pat.

Haldir gaped at his sibling as if he had suddenly grown another head, then fought not to laugh, Rumil was so ridiculous using his own techniques against him. "Puppy," he sneered, hiding a grin by turning to look out over the trees nearby.

"Hah," Rumil snorted, "you just don't want to admit I'm as good at that expression as you are, elder brother. VERY elder, I might add."  
  
Haldir's head snapped back around, "Not so elder that I couldn't thrash an impudent wretch like you."

"You and what army?" Rumil wanted to know, dancing back out of Haldir's reach when he tried to grasp hold of his shirt tail. "You're too decrepit - admit it!"

Haldir stood up, "Not as decrepit as all that," he said by way of warning.

Rumil should have known by the very soft tone of his brother's voice that he was in for it, but he still didn't believe Haldir would do anything so physical as try to thrash him with one arm still so weakened. "You won't try anyth..." he managed to taunt.

Haldir lunged. He grasped Rumil's right arm, whipped him around - using only HIS right arm and the leverage of his body as he'd been trained to do in hand-to-hand fighting - and before Rumil could finish his taunt, he found himself bent over the railing of the flet looking down in breathless shock as the ground swung dizzyingly far below. Haldir had Rumil's arm twisted up behind him - though not so hard as to cause him actual harm, just enough to let Rumil know he could hurt him if he so chose. "Oh, no?" Haldir queried softly. Then, "Decrepit, was it?"

Rumil swallowed with difficulty, throat gone dry. "I may have mis-spoken."

Haldir gave his brother's twisted-back arm one bit more of pressure, then released it, standing back as Rumil immediately straightened from his somewhat precarious position over the railing. "You're not hurt - it will stop prickling in a moment or two."  
  
Rumil eyed him warily, "If you say so - but leave off twisting my limbs from my body in the future - I have use for them."

Haldir snorted then nodded, "I promise - for now."

"Aye," Rumil answered drily, "until the next time you're thwarted and need to get your way, good or no."

Haldir raked his hair back off his face haphazardly, subsiding onto a nearby bench at a look from Rumil, who set about combing the tangles out of his brother's long, flaxen locks. "Ow, have a care!" he exclaimed when the comb dragged through a particularly stubborn knot.

"Sit still then," his younger brother chided him, then began drawing Haldir's long hair into three thick plaits, joining them at the back in the kinbraid, fastening it with a mithril clasp bearing a mallorn leaf in green enamel. "This clasp Legolas gave you for your Begetting Day is very handsome."

"I agree - I just don't want to get it broken, so I don't wear it - why did you pick that one?" He was slightly annoyed that Rumil had chosen to use the best clasp in his small wooden chest of precious things. There was that clasp, a matching cloak pin, a carved wooden brooch in the shape of a horse's head that Faramir had given him after Helm's Deep, and one or two other items that meant a lot to Haldir, although they were of little monetary value.

"Because that old leather and brass one finally gave up this life and broke into several pieces." Rumil fastened the clasp securely, examined his handiwork and let Haldir look in the small pocket mirror.

"Not too terrible," Haldir admitted, then cocked his head, grinning at Rumil, "You'd make a fine hairdresser - all the pretty court popinjays would be at your door, clamoring for your services."

A look of disgust on his face, Rumil fired back, "Yes, and my 'services' as well - no thank you." He put the comb and mirror away. "Besides," he informed his brother as they started down the long circular stairs from the flet to the ground, "I'm not interested in court popinjays."

Haldir rolled one eye to peer at his brother surreptitiously, then stopped their downward progress, pulling Rumil up short. "Who are you interested in, Seron?" This was unexpected - Rumil had found a lover? Or someone even more serious? Haldir racked his brain, trying to think of who it could be.

Rumil busied himself with the pile of newly fletched arrows, ignoring his brother's query although Haldir did note that Rumil hunched his shoulders as though fending off an attack. "You can't just ignore me and think I'll forget my curiosity," Haldir commented. When nothing was forthcoming from Rumil, Haldir sighed and walked out his door, leaning his head back inside briefly, "When you've decided to quit keeping secrets, come out and play," he jibed. He shut the door quickly, grinning. Something thumped softly against the inner surface of the door, and his grin widened. "Maybe he'll tell me before too much longer," he told himself as he descended the stairs down to ground level.

"Tell you what?" Orophin's voice interjected.

Haldir clasped hands with his brother, answering, "Rumil - who is he involved with now? Someone entirely inappropriate, I trust." To his surprise, Orophin looked as mystified as he felt. "You mean, you don't know either? This elf must really be inappropriate if Rumil hasn't bragged of it to you!"

"He isn't inappropriate," Rumil said in annoyance that his siblings were discussing his love life, "he's just - it's just - oh, never mind. When I feel like sharing it, you'll be the first blabbermouths I tell; that way, the whole of Lothlorien will hear within a quarter of an hour and I won't have to bother repeating it." He stomped off in the direction of the bathing pool leaving his brothers staring after him, open-mouthed in shock.

Haldir recovered first, "Well - it looks like we struck a nerve."

Orophin agreed, "A tender one at that - I wonder who it is?"

They discussed it at length as they followed Rumil to the pool they used for swimming and bathing. It had to be, they decided, someone of a very high class, probably totally out of their league. "Because Rumil wouldn't be so secretive about someone ordinary," Orophin decided.  
  
Haldir had to agree. "Gods, I hope it's not one of the Lady's handmaidens!" A more spoiled bunch of elleths he had yet to run across.  
  
Orophin stopped, gave Haldir a look and burst out laughing. "No," he finally managed to say between guffaws, "I don't think we have to worry about that - not handMAIDENS, anyway."

"Oh," Haldir responded, enlightenment dawning, "I didn't realize he'd found himself in that way, so to speak - I guess our baby brother really has grown up while we weren't looking."

"He 'found himself' years ago, mellon, you were just too busy with your own affairs to notice."

Haldir shot him a look, but was forced to agree he hadn't been paying close attention to his brothers' love life in the past fifty years or so, being happily bound to the prince of Mirkwood and still in the honeymoon phase of their marriage. "I no longer have 'affairs', 'Phin," Haldir grumped.

"Legolas keeps you under a strong rein then, brother?" Orophin twitted him, laughing when Haldir's scowl deepened.

"He doesn't need to," Haldir said indignantly, "I have no wish to stray."  
  
"Right," Orophin commented.

"I mean that," Haldir shot back. "I'm perfectly happy with Legolas."

"Right, if he were only within a hundred leagues of you, you'd be blissful."

Haldir sighed, "There is that," he admitted. Then, gazing up into the canopy of leaves overhead, he wondered aloud, "Where are you, Greenleaf? When are you coming home?"

Leaves fluttered in the wind but no answer was immediately forthcoming.

 

 

TBC


End file.
